Speedometer
by quotidienne
Summary: A race against time: because one boy grew up into a man he should never have needed to be.
1. Prologue

**SPEEDOMETER:** a countdown from a place before time

--

**Disclaimer**: We all know who Naruto really belongs to. I'm just putting together some of the pieces.

**Warnings: **Language. Likely holds true for here on.

**Author's Notes: **Yup, we're in for the long haul. **Edit 12/08/2007- **It pays to be caught up in the manga. I've substituted the fan-created name for the Fourth for his real name--_finally _Kishimoto, _finally_!

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"Oi! Minato!"

The blond turned around and noticed that Naoki had brought Yasu along, the latter rubbing his eyes because, yeah, it's early, but a shinobi should always be prepared and they've only got a few minutes before their new sensei said he would be there, and Minato wants to make a good impression because even if he wasn't always the best in the academy, it was damned time he was good at _something_. He'd known that he wasn't a genius when he'd had to start working harder than anyone to keep up in kunai training, so he'd wake up early and break in a few logs around training field seven--the field that was always open from five in the morning until ten when he needed to be at school.

"_Minato!_" And he'd forgotten Naoki at his back, Sato Naoki who _holy shit is that a shuriken?_ was the best marksman of their class, but the blond spun around to avoid the thing_ thank hell,_ and found himself face to face with the boy himself, light brown bangs falling into darker eyes that were always kind of flat (Minato's mother had said Naoki's parents and older brother had died at the start of the second ninja war, first the father then the mother and boy, so _take it easy on him, kid_) even when he smiled, and Naoki didn't ever really smile. He grinned, though, the plastic sort of grins Minato saw on his mother when he asked about his father, the one that flopped a bit when pushed, so Minato learned what hurt and tiptoed around the rest because he wasn't stupid, didn't want people to hurt, and everyone hurt nowadays, just a year after the war.

"You missed."

"It's early. Yasu's even still sleeping." Their other teammate was--leaning up against a post_ standing up_ and god this kid was asking for it, just asking for it, but it wasn't his fault: Inoue Yasu came from a line of civilians, couldn't be blamed for not having the jumpy awareness drilled into every ninja's child. They knew; they forgave him for it.

Minato smirked. "Let him. Our sensei probably won't be here for another ten minutes."

"You know, Yasu looked him up yesterday--that guy was _Jiraiya-sama_--of the _Densetsu no Sannin_!"

"Sannin?"

"Yeah, it's the title that was given to those three students of Sarutobi-sama at the start of the war when they held back a whole force of Amegakure ANBU who were invading after the assassination of Niidaime."

"_Them?_ Jiraiya-sensei is _that_ Jiraiya?"

"Yeah! I couldn't believe it either. He'd just made jounin too--just before the war. I heard Tsunade-sama and Orochimaru-sama also are going to take on students, even though Tsunade-sama is still technically only a chuunin."

_What …what a team. _"I'm glad I was stuck with you two then, Naoki."

"You need _someone _to watch your back, Minato. Yasu and I can do that for you. Even if Yasu is notoriously unreliable." Said genin snored a bit from the corner and the two friends broke down laughing, the blond doubled up even if he knew Naoki was right: he wasn't the best ninja--he tended to space out during combat, didn't really want to always get stronger--just wanted to keep up, and he wasn't as hard hearted as either Naoki or Yasu and _knew_ it got in the way of his performance.

He just hoped it wouldn't get him killed.

A voice startled them both. "Is this the bunch? What team are you again?"

Their sensei could only be twenty at the most, but had grey hair prickling down his back and a wide, goofy smile plastered to his face. Minato started--this _couldn't_ be Jiraiya-sama: this guy looked too laid back to be any sort of ninja, smiling too much to really have fought in any sort of battle, and red lines stretching down from his eyes looking more clownlike than predatory.

"T-team four, Jiraiya-sensei."

"Jiraiya-sensei, huh. I kind of like that. Has a nice ring to it." The grey haired shinobi picked at a spot on his chin and shrugged. "Well, before you can actually call me that, you have to pass my test."

"Test?" Yasu, finally elbowed awake, screwed up his face.

"Yup. I'll send you back to the academy if you fail--which would also be nice, seeing as I really don't like the idea of babysitting some brats for a year or two."

"But what would we do there? We already graduated."

Jiraiya shrugged. "I don't know. Not my problem. Now--are you ready?"

"Ready? For what?"

"I've got two bells here. Get one, you pass. After four hours, if you haven't snatched a bell from me, you fail. No more questions--figure the rest out on your own." And with that, their to-be-sensei disappeared while three mouths hung agape.

"Oi, oi, Naoki, Minato--he's joking, isn't he? Taiki-sensei never said anything about a test _after_ graduation!"

Naoki slid to the ground, legs folding beneath him, and Minato, recognizing this as his infamous planning stance, joined the boy on the ground. "He said there were two bells, right? But Yuuta-niichan had two teammates, and both of them were assigned to him after graduation. So Jiraiya-sensei could just be testing us--he could be lying about just having two bells. Maybe he wants to see if we're any good with information gathering."

Minato frowned. "He could be testing our commitment--maybe he wants to see if we'll sacrifice ourselves for the good of the mission--you know, like Taiki-sensei taught us. One person will have to go into the fight knowing he won't get a bell."

"He's new to being a sensei, he said so himself. He might really only pass two of us."

Naoki shook his head. "Nah, Yasu--I think that either three of us pass or none of us do. I still think he might have a third bell on him, but we'd have to immobilize him to check, and that'll be nearly impossible, even with the three of us working together." A moment passed, and the boy sighed, thin wrists fluttering. "Listen, he's a really great ninja--and we really should consider that if by some chance Yasu's right, well, one of us has to be willing to return to the academy."

There was an awkward pause, and Minato closed his eyes before nodding sharply. "That can be me."

"_Minato_," because Naoki knew how hard he trained, knew he was up before anyone else and practiced until his muscles seized up and bruises scattered his body. Naoki had found him lying in the middle of one of the abandoned training grounds one day, nursing a twisted ankle and when the other boy had run his hand along Minato's side, he'd felt the flinch and heard the unbidden moan of pain and brought over ice so that Minato's mother wouldn't know. Minako had lost her husband on a raid years ago, when Minato was still young, and she'd retired from teaching to raise the boy and make sure he stayed alive. She'd panic if she knew her son trained so intensely--until he was bloody--so Naoki kept Minato's secret, because the blond smiled at him and cracked jokes and never asked about his brother, never asked if he was okay, if Naoki was okay alone. Minato just crashed on his spare futon more often than not and never said it was really so that the blond could keep him company.

And Naoki knew Minato _knew_, but they never talked about family, and it was okay. "_Minato_," he said again, but this time to confirm, because Minato would do anything for anyone, Naoki knew that better than anyone else--it's why everyone trusted the blond, even if he could be a bit stupid and slow--it's why everyone wanted to protect him, wanted him to succeed. Yasu was already nodding, and so he sighed. "Okay. If it comes to that, Yasu and I will take the bells. Now, we have to find a way to _find_ our new sensei.

"And in honor of his sacrifice, Namikaze Minato will be our temporary leader."

--

Two hours later, three genin were sweaty and dirty and observing their teacher take a nap in the middle of a clearing. Yasu was good with dispelling genjutsu, otherwise Minato was sure the three of them would have been chasing their shadows around in circles for the rest of the time--Minato was glad he'd picked Yasu as their scout instead of Naoki, even if the latter was the stealthier. Naoki had frowned at the decision, but everyone who knew Namikaze Minato knew that the boy never let anyone down, and so the brown haired genin was willing to trust his teammate.

"Listen--if he's really asleep, that means he's completely underestimating us. We should send clones out there to check, though."

"Clones? If he's awake, that'd just alert him to our presence."

"Mm. Yasu, how good is your genjustsu?"

"Not great. I'm better at seeing through it than weaving it--in fact, my best can only hold up for a little while."

"Your best?"

"It feeds off the fear of the target and projects those feelings--but it only works for under two minutes at most, and that's when I _have_ all my chakra."

"Jiraiya-sensei's a _Sannin_. That won't work."

"You're right, Naoki. But if he's underestimating us--hey, do you think you could rig kunai around this clearing? We could make a few clones and have them run around and shoot the kunai so it looks like the clones are throwing them. That'll test if he's really asleep--if he is, we can just hide and use Yasu's genjustsu to get away if need be."

"Sounds dangerous. If he catches us, he might fail us."

Minato shook his head, and blond strands fell into his eyes. "But if we never move, we'll fail automatically."

Naoki had moved before he was done speaking, and Minato grinned at the boy's efficiency. _Naoki's a really good ninja_ he though absentmindedly, trying to squelch the nagging whine in his stomach that asked him what the hell he was thinking, giving up so easily, always giving himself up so _easily you can't protect your mother if you always give up, if you're not a shinobi. _

"Minato," and _fuck_ he was worrying _Yasu_ he had to snap out of it, had to stop thinking so selfishly, Naoki needed someone by his side, someone dependable, and Yasu was more talented than he was, fighting against a family to pursue his dreams. Minato could damn well think about himself later, push it to the back of his mind like mother had always said father had done _your father never minded if, ultimately, someone else would benefit from it._

_Was he happy?_ he remembered asking.

_I don't know._

"It's done, Minato." Naoki's thin hand was on his shoulder, squeezing slightly to both relax and warn the other. "Are we each going to make a clone now?"

"No--I'll do that and henge the other two into you. That way, in case we get caught, you two have enough chakra reserves to come up with a retreat that'll work."

Yasu nodded curtly, and Naoki knelt and clipped his ponytail back to the top of his head from where it had slipped. Minato readied the seals and quickly made three copies and henged two into his teammates, concentrating on the way Naoki's bangs fell into his small, effeminate face and how Yasu's eyes narrowed at the sides when he was serious, how the short boy shrunk into himself.

"Okay, _go_," and they did, Naoki watching movements to match them with the kunai he'd strung around Jiraiya's encampment, Minato whispering little nudges _go this, no, that way, softly softly approach him, okay, pull back a bit, forward_ and the three were in front of their snoring sensei. Minato had one clone tentatively poke a finger at the man's side where the bells were fastened to Jiraiya's black belt. The older shinobi didn't even move when the clone unfastened them, and began to pull the strings all the way out of their loop. It was only when Minato's clone was actually _holding_ them that he realized that Jiraiya had both eyes open and was smirking.

_Shit_, Minato thought, _shit, he's good_.

"So the kunai and clone trick was a bit boring, but I like your guts. Plus, the Inoue kid--he's good with genjutsu. Good move putting him up front. Had you let Sato handle it like I expected, you'd have taken twice as long and expelled that much more energy."

"Does this mean we fail? You caught us, after all," and that was Naoki, emerging from the bushes.

The man smiled and leaned back, eyes closing. "Nope. Namikaze here has the bells. _He _decides who passes and fails," and suddenly, Minato got it, world folding in on him. This test wasn't about sacrifices or information--it was about _loyalty_, and here, right here was something Minato knew he could do, something he didn't need to practice, something he was _finally good at_.

"Minato, you don't have to, we can take him" Naoki began, but the blond had already given away both bells, turned to Jiraiya, and bowed. Minato wasn't stupid--he knew power when he saw it and this was _power_, the rush between the Sannin's hands and the way the red tattoos looked more like bloody tearmarks when the man's eyes weren't smiling, when he was dead serious.

"You'll have to go back to the academy. You might never be a ninja."

"I promised I would be the one to do this."

"Don't think you could beat them in a fight? I'm sure the girly one wouldn't hold up to a few solid punches."

Minato scowled. "I _promised_. Plus, someone who doesn't trust his teammates is _scum_."

At that Jiraiya paused, hand twitching. Minato watched, terrified, as a hand clenched, unclenched, and reclenched in a moment that felt longer than a moment, longer than an eternity, because this, he felt, was something unplanned: Minato had said something _dangerous_, and even if he didn't know why, he'd always been good at reading people, at watching where edges come together and where the breaking points are and knew that this was something that would break the other man. He also knew that he'd never say something like that again to his sensei and filed the thought away.

A hand on his shoulder distracted him and the older shinobi was smiling again.

"Maybe that's true."

--

That year was the last year Konoha ever passed four genin teams.

* * *

_17 years (September)_


	2. One

**SPEEDOMETER:**a countdown from a place before time

_chapter one_

_-_

_Other echoes_

_Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?_

_-_

"No way."

"_Naoki_."

"Absolutely not. You can do it—I'll sit over here and watch. Really. I'll make sure no wind quips over and murders us when we aren't looking because _that's how dangerous this mission is._"

"All genin do this sort of stuff."

"How would _you_ know, Yasu—you're the first ninja in your family! We're supposed to be out _fighting_, protecting people, saving lives—not sitting here picking trash off the ground!"

A shrug. "Someone has to do it."

"What a _civilian_ thing to say," and as Yasu's ears reddened Minato sighed, not wanting to get involved because both boys had a point—Naoki was restless and still remembering the not so far off days when academy students had been rushed into genin status and thrown onto the battlefield for a lack of numbers. His brother had been one of those boys—a recent chuunin, still too much to learn, thrust up to the front lines along ANBU members far more scarred than he and killed almost as soon as he arrived. Naoki always said, darkly, that it was good his mother had died before hearing the news, or that certainly would have driven her mad. It had been a while since the first ninja war, there shouldn't have been another one, Niidaime shouldn't have been killed _in his office_, and boys like Yuuta should still be alive, training in the now usually desolate fields that were reserved for the higher classes of ninja.

"At least I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty. God, Naoki, if you were any more like a _girl_," and oh, god, Minato knew that had to hurt; he heard Yasu's nose crunching even over the few yards of distance he'd put between himself and his insane teammates. And, of course, Jiraiya-sensei was _late_, his friends were killing each other, and he was biting his own lip because, okay, Naoki really did look kind of like a girl with long, fluttery eyelashes and thin hands and long hair gathered and pinned up to his head with bright red clips and

"_Do girls punch like this!?_" Yasu was bleeding, Minato was laughing into his palm, and Naoki looked even more feminine with hair falling into his face and his narrow jaw clenched. He couldn't help it—the boy really was such a _girl_ and _shit, another shuriken? _grazing his ear_ where the hell does Naoki _keep_ these!?_

Breathing into his ear: "I noticed, Minato. You'd think you'd be more wary after I punched your lights out last year in the academy—"

_How'd he get so _close? "That was when we were _eleven_!"

"Still holds true."

"Want to try?"

Leaping away, Naoki grinned and abruptly shifted his center of gravity far lower, hands resting lightly on his knees. _"Come on!"_

Adrenaline rushing, Minato leaned forward into a crouch, about to spring for it when he felt a tremendous pressure at the center of his forehead holding him back.

_Oh shit._

"I'm so glad I teach such a _mature_ bunch of brats. Do you really think I'll ever recommend you for the chuunin exams if you can't even clean up a small park?"

Naoki stood again, hands on his hips. "_Sensei!_ This isn't a job for _shinobi!"_

"Oh?" And Jiraiya-sensei wasn't smiling—Minato saw, head up and fingers twisting behind his back because Jiraiya-sensei looked _angry_, looked _scared_, and there was something more than power oozing out of him, something more than rightful jounin haughtiness—if anything, it was a sharp emotional wall where none had been before—a coldly abrupt _blankness_, but before he could probe any further, Jiraiya-sensei turned around and stalked off, hand in the air.

"How about I string you all up if it's not done in an hour?"

Even Yasu paused at that, looking at the receding back of their sensei with narrowed eyes. "Minato," he said slowly, "you're good with people—what do you think _that's _about."

Minato noticed that Naoki was listening closely, long fingers still against his abdomen. "I—I don't know."

"Hmm, no guesses?"

He did, of course, have a few suspicions—Minato recognized the sparked _discomfort_ from his careless comment during their genin test and knew it had to be about his team, about the something that was very very _wrong_ with their sensei, but this wasn't his secret to tell, and he didn't understand why the two people Jiraiya-sensei talked about _all the time_ could hurt him, why the smiles were real but just a bit sad, as if Jiraiya's stories were more about the past than the present.

_"Let me tell you about the time we held back a whole force of Amegakure __ANBU—"_

_Naoki was lying on his back, staring into the clouds. "You already have done, sensei. It's the only story you tell us. Don't you have anything _besides_ war stories?"_

_"Yeah! Like stupid things you and Tsunade-sama and Orochimaru-sama did when _you_ were genin!"_

_Minato twisted around on his back, dying for a glimpse of his sensei's face, just a look so that he could see if what he remembered about his genin test wasn't as fictional as he'd come to believe—wondering what was so wrong with Jiraiya-sensei sense of loyalty that he needed to test his genin team for it—wondering what kind of team could produce a man so awfully lonely. But the man's back was towards his team, legs dangling over the rock Naoki had chosen as their break spot, the boy nimbly melting into the sun-warmed spots._

_His voice, though, betrayed him. "What if I tell you that the three of us were always great, and were never idiots like you three?"_

_"We'd know you were lying?"_

_"Brat," but the man sounded pleased. "Alright—after we passed the Professor's test—"_

_"The Professor?"_

_"It's what everyone used to call the Hokage. Sarutobi-sensei knew everything, always—he was like some sort of encyclopedia, and he loved to tell stories, so we called him the Professor. Anyway, Tsunade was so happy, she hugged Orochimaru, lucky bastard, but instead of hugging her back like I would have done, he just shrugged her off and she'd pouted, right, so I'd said 'you're not supposed to just hurt a girl's feelings like that!' and he looked at me, you know—he hadn't done so during the test but now he did—and he just said that I could have her if I wanted to, because he wasn't interested. And Tsunade was _right there_, you know, so I went over to punch his lights out—justice and all—but he caught my fist and just whispered loudly 'anyway, she's too flat for me' at which point Tsunade broke it all up by slamming her fist into the ground and causing a mini-earthquake." He paused for effect, and Naoki sniggered at the gesture_

_"Uh, sensei? Don't you have any more_interesting _stories?"_

_"About my team?"_

_"Yeah. You talk about what you guys accomplished during the war all the time but, well, didn't you guys ever get drunk together and do something super embarrassing? We want to hear stories like _that_."_

_"Yasu-kun, when we were growing up we were just like you guys."_

_"You mean you were all best friends?"_

_"Well—not exactly."_

_"Did you ever date Tsunade-sama?"_

_"Oh no, she would have killed me. Plus, she might be the prettiest kunochi, but she packs a huge punch, and my nose can only take so many poundings."_

_"So she used to beat you up. What about Orochimaru-sama? No one knows _anything_ about him—what's his family like?"_

_"We don't talk about those things."_

_Minato pursed his lips. "But you know, don't you."_

_"Yes, of course," he said slowly "but you three are too nosy for your own good."_

_"We just want to know what our sensei was like _before_ he was a war-hero."_

_"You know, it seems to me that you three really _weren't_ as gooda team as we've always heard—nothing like us, for example," Naoki murmured. Minato elbowed him in the side._

_"You don't know how a team stands up until it's tested."_

_"But wasn't that what your bell test was about?"_

_"In a way."_

_"So—"_

_"Enough. Tsunade is a gorgeous psychopath, Orochimaru can be a complete bastard, and I'm the brilliant leader of the team. No more questions."_

_"I thought Orochimaru-sama was the lead—"_

_"Anything else, Yasu, before _I_ break your nose?"_

Naoki was looking at him, and Minato knew the other boy was watching for anything he might let slip—Naoki, the boy who knew him better than anyone else in the world _would_ be the one to notice. He turned around.

"Just having a bad day?"

Yasu would accept that, Minato knew, even if Naoki wouldn't. Surprisingly, though, the latter merely rose from his cross-legged position on one of the nearby rocks and joined Yasu in picking up the trash along the park. For a moment, Minato let himself smile, because this is what teamwork should be—three bodies, one goal, and nothing else under the sun but _them_ and _them_ and _them_.

He really didn't understand what Jiraiya-sensei thought was so hard.

"Princess getting nervous?"

"Shut _up_, Yasu!"

—

It took them longer than an hour, but Jiraiya-sensei never came as he'd threatened. In fact, the three waited at the site for four hours after they'd finished, waiting until the sun began to set but their sensei never returned to collect them. They decided, a little after dusk, that it was time to go find Jiraiya on their own, and took off towards the town. After peeking into a few restaurants and running into a few older ninja who said they hadn't seen him, they found their jounin-sensei walking out of a bar, smiling thinly. Yasu was about to call out to him when Naoki reached over and muffled the shorter boy's mouth with his hand, whispering for him to _shush_, because Tsunade-sama was walking right behind him, hands tensing and eyes red. The two slipped into the alley beside the establishment, and the three genin had to move a bit closer to hear anything at all. Thankfully, the older ninja were too preoccupied to notice, and even Minato was too curious to mind propriety.

Jiraiya grabbed at Tsunade's shoulders, hissing. "Look at me Tsunade. Killing yourself over this won't help—Nawaki wouldn't want this—_Dan_ wouldn't have wanted this."

Minato ignored what Jiraiya was saying in favor of watching his teammate, noticing that Tsunade's eyes were red, yes, but her hair was also lanky and limp, unwashed bangs hanging around her face—for a kunochi who prided herself on her ability to juggle being both a_ woman_ and a_ ninja_, Minato thought that she looked a bit worse for the wear.

"What would you know!? You haven't lost anyone to this—to this _place_!"

Jiraiya remained still. "You're right—I never had anyone to lose."

"I-I'm sorry."

"That doesn't matter. What do you plan to do with yourself?"

"I-I'm taking Shizune—Dan's niece—and going to travel a bit. See what I can do about, about my—"

"Hemaphobia?" Tsunade made a strangled sort of sound, eyes widening.

"Don't worry," Jiraiya added quickly, "I won't tell Orochimaru. I don't know what you're so scared of, though. We're supposed to be—"

"I'll come back, Jiraiya. I know you don't believe me, but I'll come back for you two."

"How can I? How can you _say_ that, Tsunade? This, this, _place_ was only ever supposed to be about us! Don't you remember, dammit, what even _Orochimaru_ said after that battle?"

"The one with the ANBU from Amegakure?"

"Of course. 'Konoha has only ever been about us, and it will be that way forever.' Even that creepy snake _bastard_ knows it, so why are you—"

"I need to find it again—my reason to fight."

"It was never about us?"

"It could never _have been_ about you. It has to be about me this time, not about someone like Nawaki or Dan who can just _die_."

"If you ask it, Orochimaru and I will never die for you."

Tsunade smiled, and Minato remembered his sensei telling them all how beautiful she was, how she was really just the prettiest girl in the world that he'd ever had the pleasure of kissing and none of them had believed him but here she was, smiling and kissing him softly on lips too startled to kiss back.

_"Oh of course—on my fifteenth birthday Tsunade-sama kissed me."_

_"But you always said that she hated when you flirted with her."_

_"Sometimes, Naoki, people don't mean what they say—rather what they do."_

_A pause. "Was it a dare?"_

_"When I get my hands on you—"_

"Don't—don't go anywhere without me, Jiraiya."

"Come back," and their sensei's voice was strained, breaking. "I'll be here—I'll _always _be here. Orochimaru will be here."

"Like before?"

"Of course." And Minato knew what lying was like (_Naoki used to tell Minato, back when they were in the Academy, that boys like him didn't deserve to be shinobi—stupid boys who were too happy and didn't know what hurt _was_ should never be allowed to fight next to someone who did) _and felt the lie the way he felt their sensei's true discomfort with the way his team was built and now, Minato knew, with the way his team was dissolving. He wondered where Orochimaru-sama _was_ at a time like this.

What he couldn't understand for the life of him, as Naoki gently tugged him away, was why their sensei didn't really fight for these people, because didn't he love them? Why he could just _give up_ and let Tsunade kiss him as if it was okay like that, as if the three Sannin weren't supposed to be the role models of every ninja in Konoha.

"_Minato_," and Naoki's hands were warm against his side, fluttering up against his face. Yasu was curled into a corner, and they were at Naoki's house _when did we get here, god_, and Naoki was so gentle, hair still clipped up on top of his head and lashes fluttering. "_Minato_, you shouldn't get so emotional. It's against the twenty-fifth rule of the shinobi—"

"Fuck that," and Minato was surprised that the words hadn't come from his own mouth, but Yasu's. "Minato, what Naoki really means is that no matter _what,_ we'll never desert each other."

"Funny, didn't know you could be so sentimental," but Yasu ignored Naoki's strained taunting in favor of grabbing two different hands and pressing them against his own.

"We will always be team four. I'd kill either of you if you tried to leave me like that."

Minato found that he couldn't speak, so was glad when Naoki leaned forward and smiled. "Yes, yes of course. After all, Konoha isn't about _cowards_."

"It's about _us_, isn't it? Not about them—about _us,_ Konoha has always been about us," and there was power in those words, even if it was Yasu, Inoue Yasu who wasn't even descended from great shinobi, saying it, Minato felt himself shiver.

_"When I was fifteen, Tsunade kissed me," and their sensei had wanted to say something else._

"Seal it with a kiss?" His voice felt scratchy as he recalled Tsunade leaning in, saying goodbye, Jiraiya's eyes breaking apart from the inside out.

_Konoha could not have been about them._

Yasu laughed nervously, but before either of the two could move Naoki, always the fastest, pressed soft, fluttering kisses against two pairs of lips in turn. "I guess I can play the girl this once, you know," he retorted shyly, pulling his hair behind his ears with long, twitching fingers usually so well disciplined. Minato smiled involuntarily at the warmth and noticed that Yasu's dark flush matched Naoki's.

"I _knew_ it! You really are a—"

"I'll kill you if you say anything else. I swear."

_Konoha could only ever have been about us._

Back to normal, Minato thought, but it wasn't really _back_ to anything—they had never changed, and Minato knew that unlike the Sannin, war and death could not undermine their equilibrium, because three people who really understood what teamwork meant could not die, could never allow a friend to die. Jiraiya might be their sensei, but Minato knew that they were wiser than him in so many ways, if only just because the three of them could roll around on Naoki's living room floor and laugh and swear that they'd do anything to stay together and--

And Minato could _believe_ it. The would was beautiful like that—full of big bright things waiting for him, waiting for him and Naoki and Yasu to find and laugh at and curl around.

Minato also knew, suddenly, that Tsunade was _wrong_—he was going to fight for his teammates, not for himself—never for himself—and he'd prove that _that_ really _was_ the only reason to serve as a shinobi.

After that, of course, he joined in on the pillow fight.

—

In the dark, hands found each other, attracted by magnetism, by electricity, by destiny.

Minato remembered what Jiraiya had said, and smiled. "I will never die for you."

Two quick squeezes: _understood_.

* * *

17 years (December)

* * *

**Author's Notes:** There will be a series of side stories that will be published under a single collection relating to SPEEDOMETER, so look forward to that as well as you wait on the next installment! Questions to be answered: when did Tsunade first kiss Jiraiya, what really happened when the Sannin held back a force of Amegakure ANBU, and why was Orochimaru _not there_? 


	3. Two

**SPEEDOMETER:**a countdown from a place before time

_chapter two_

_-_

_Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind_

_Cannot bear very much reality._

-

Tsunade left early one winter morning, a willowy girl solemnly following her into the darkness of the surrounding forest. The sky was still a bruised blue-purple, but Minato knew that when the sun rose it would rise behind Konoha, painting the tops of houses and Hokages' faces golden. He wondered, legs swinging as he watched from his favorite place above Nidaiime's nose on the Hokage mountain, how strong a kunochi would have to be in order to leave a world and not look back, but Tsunade didn't, at least not where he could see, eyes prickling.

_You're so stupid. Don't you know that Jiraiya-sensei really loves you_? Because he did, really did—Jiraiya's face always smoothed over when talking about his blonde teammate who had a tendency to resort to fists when angry. He figured the whole point of turning around and saying a final goodbye (maybe even waiting until Konoha was bathed in golden light, looking far more perfect than it could ever be) was to remember the village—to keep in sharp relief the memory of a place that was supposed to mean everything to ninja, because it's what they were to give their lives to protect. He kicked the Hokage mountain with the back of his foot, bit his lip, and wondered.

Minato wasn't sure if he loved Konoha. He loved his mother who lived there, and the fruit vendor down the street who always greeted him with a smile as he left on his way to school (and now he tries to pass by his stall at least once a day to return the greeting) whose name, he only found out when he asked, once, late to the academy and _starving_, was Yamada (he had long _long_ black hair and sometimes looked like a girl). He loved his old teachers and his friends and his teammates, even if they were a bit stupid sometimes, even if Naoki was a bit too concerned about becoming strong and Yasu always needing to learn the instincts born into ninja children because they both were the boys he could trust with his life and his back and his fate.

He felt the sun on his shoulders even before he turned around, shivering through the warmth and staring down a world and decided that if he didn't start running now he never would, he'd get too comfortable and wouldn't have time to start training.

"Good morning."

Minato started at the voice in his ear, even if he knew that the only person who would know where to find him at dawn would be Naoki. They'd sat here together many more times than Minato could remember, and suddenly he felt a bit better. The breath was hot in his ear and he smiled, leaning back into a waiting side.

"Don't scare me like that."

"You should have heard me coming. You'll turn into Yasu like that, you know. No reflexes and all."

"Shut up." But he smiled.

That day, Minato watched the universe glow gold and didn't train in mornings like he'd done since his days in the academy. Naoki was soft at his side and he wrapped an arm around his best friend's back and Naoki didn't say anything but sat there and waited with him. They did not mention how similar this was to when Naoki was wilder and Minato used to anchor him—the days after Naoki's family died and he stopped smiling and stopped talking and stopped everything but hating and Minato was there to sit and wait with him and yet they both remembered but Naoki let Minato remember.

The morning one of the greatest ninja in Konoha left them, Minato did not train. Later, much later, he ended up regretting that.

-

They sauntered over to their practice area a few hours later, and found Yasu rocking on the balls of his feet, eyes darting everywhere.

"Oy, you're awake at this time of morning," Naoki cried, waving a hand in greeting. At the sound of his voice, Yasu jumped forward, bounding towards his two teammates. From the way he ran, even Minato—always the least perceptive of his friends—could see that something was _off_.

"Naoki! Minato! You're _late_ and Jiraiya-sensei is _so angry_ and—" the boy stopped as a hand crashed into his shoulder, choking on his words. Yasu's eyes widened before he squeezed them shut—taking the cue, Minato lowered his head as well.

"_You're_ supposed to be the next generation of ninja? _You_ guys? You can't even come on time to a lesson and you're supposed to save the next generation of villagers? Do you think that an attack will _wait_ for you?"

"It was only by a few minutes, sensei."

"In a few _seconds,_ an enemy could kill all of your friends—your teammate who's been _waiting _here for you." Minato finally looked up from the ground and saw that Jiraiya was shaking, hands clenched and teeth gnashing into a swollen lip. "I'm training you guys to keep a fucking _village_, together, not to fool around with each other in the morning before lessons."

"At least we're all friends with each other, _sensei_."

He didn't take the bait. "And when your friends die? How will you _deal_ with that?"

"We won't let our friends die." Naoki was also red, also shaking, Minato wanted to hold him but he agreed, he would never let Naoki or Yasu die or let them walk away into the darkness without ever looking back, or even looking back and does not understand how their sensei has the _right _to even think—

And then Minato thought.

"Sensei," and his voice was suddenly cold, hard, commanding because he understood, finally, that this is not the time to be fooling around, this is the time to be training and learning something from one of the greatest men alive, even if he's too much of a wreck to teach anything, before he's too much of a wreck to teach anything. He is watching his teammates watch him out of the corner of his eye and he feels like their leader, like the one who is supposed to keep them safe, even if he's the worst ninja of all of them.

_We only need you for your techniques, sensei. Give us those and you'll have done your job._

He tried again. "Sensei, I think it's time to start. It's already approaching midmorning."

Even Jiraiya was stunned. "A-ah. Yes. Just—just don't be late next time."

"We won't ever be late again."

Yasu might have murmured something to the point of Jiraiya not being able to keep his own bloody team together much less a village but Naoki stepped on his toes, covering the movement by flicking his hair out of his face with a glitter covered hand and watching Minato for his approval, which the boy gave with a curt nod. Jiraiya-sensei was right, they were going to be Konoha's future once everyone else is gone, once they've grown up enough to be thrust into the front lines of combat and so it was time to be serious, time to start listening and taking advantage of the man who is supposed to teach them how to kill more efficiently, listening only during training because he wasn't called a genius for nothing (the three of them knew, bruises covering their chests), but it wasn't enough, it couldn't be enough anymore, so when Jiraiya dismissed them and slunk into the seedier part of town where both women and morals were looser, Naoki stayed with Minato to practice his taijutsu, experimenting with throwing a bit of ninjutsu into the physical tricks that he just couldn't seem to be able to pull off, no matter the number of hours logged practicing.

They were _not_ going to die.

(_Minato,_ Naoki had said, watching him fall from an attempted mid-air kick,_ you don't need to do it the way I do for it to work. You're better at ninjutsu than taihenjutsu, even if you are a natural at seishin-teki kyōyō._

_Seishin-teki kyōyō?_

_You could call it meditation, I guess. It's important for really involved taijutsu._

_I'm not—_

_When you're not trying, your ability to focus is unparalleled. Trust me. I've been trained in recognizing all of this since I was little._

_Part of your family tradition, right?_

_Mmm. So try jumping by using chakra or an illusion rather than just relying on your body's abilities. That way you can look more agile than you really are.) _

Yasu would work nearby, perfecting his standard set of genjutsu, throwing little wrinkles into the typical illusions that Minato thought up at night—tailored especially for a boy who didn't have much chakra but instead had mastered almost perfect control.

For some reason, watching their sensei fall apart infused them with desperation. _Next time there is an attack he might not be able to hold them back—he doesn't have one of his teammates maybe he won't be able to fight maybe we will have to fight for him_ and none of them said anything and continued to work, sometimes late into the night, or even early morning.

They'd reconvene afterwards to discuss strategy, something Minato found he was beginning to enjoy more than he'd thought, and compare strengths. Minato never understood why, despite emphasizing teamwork, their sensei never taught them how to _fight_ like a team, only how to act like one—he found he learnt better when they fought each other to test their abilities. Naoki used to win every skirmish against Yasu, but now the defeats were becoming a bit more evenly distributed, and even Minato could pull Naoki down to his knees once in a while now. Once it got colder, instead of retreating to the unused training grounds for practices, they'd sit in Minato's room, hands wrapped around mugs of hot chocolate that Minato's mother had made, and snacking on small marshmallows that Yasu's mother had bought him as a snack.

_All you do is mess around, sensei_. He might have understood, but he certainly could not forgive the man for being more of a hypocrite than the role model he should've been. It was only their fifth week of their secret training menu, but already he could feel his senses sharpening, and hated the man more with every muscle he used. _How dare you toy with us just because your own life is falling apart_

_How dare you toy with us._

"Minato, are you listening?"

"Sorry Naoki, what'd you say?"

The boy sighed, bangs falling over his face. "Listen, if you're too tired we can go over this later--"

"It's not that. I think we should finish this set today—after all, we'd planned on starting a different type of practice tomorrow, right? That was your idea, so we should go over strategy today so that we can get right to it in the morning."

"Minato," and when Naoki looked up Minato looked at him, really _looked_ at the best friend he'd been training with so extensively and saw dark shadows rimming his eyes, the purple in striking contrast with his too pale skin and dark flat bangs. Suddenly, he thought back to that morning when it all started and remembered Naoki's reaction, remembered sitting at the top of Konoha and remembered that Naoki had not seen Tsunade go and thought, stomach rolling, that maybe Naoki had completely the wrong idea about what was happening.

"Naoki, what's wrong? Are you sleeping? You look pale."

"I'm fine, I'm just excited. We haven't worked this hard since we were in the academy, trying to pass the final together, right Minato?"

"The two of you used to stay behind and work on throwing kunai, right?"

"Yeah. Minato was awful at it."

Yasu and Naoki laughed and the roar in Minato's ears grew louder. He saw Naoki's too thin wrists wave in air and saw too thin fingers clutch at the plans written out on the desk with beautifully written kanji spelling _how to successfully ambush a large group of ninja with just the three of us_ and realized that this was very very wrong, that he'd been very very stupid and Naoki might just be falling apart again and this time it will be _all his fault_.

His voice was soft when he tried to speak. "Naoki, this isn't what you think it is. We're not preparing for battle."

"Hmm?"

"We're not fighting to get revenge for your family, idiot!" He smacked the table, heard the cups rattle and belatedly wondered what his mother would think if she was listening. The walls in his house, after all, were fairly thin.

Naoki stared at him, and flicked his bangs away from his eyes. "Huh? Of course not—we're not ready for something like that. Sit down."

"We're not training so that we can go to Amegakure! This isn't a _war_."

"Minato, I don't understand what you're talking about."

"And I don't understand what you think you'll get out of this—all of this extra practice, all of these strange strategies you keep drawing up."

"Are you asking why we're becoming ninja at all?"

"That isn't what he meant, Naoki," but Yasu sounded tired.

"So what _did_ he mean? Bored of playing ninja already? Time for the next _activity_ at night to keep you busy, Minato? Lack of a social life getting you down?"

"Naoki--"

"Maybe that's what our sensei is teaching us with all of his idiotic speeches about always being on time, always watching and waiting and being careful. Maybe he thinks we're spineless, because the war is over and you guys don't have any goals, any dreams—maybe that's why he's treating us like _kids_." Voice rising and face flushing, Naoki stood up. "And maybe _you_ don't understand it yet, but the war isn't really over yet."

Even though he was expecting it, the words struck at him roughly."What?"

"The war won't be over until _everything_ is avenged."

_"Everyone's hurt after the war, Minato." His mother covered his eyes with two thin hands, chin brushing against the crown of his head. "You don't have to look if you see all of it, you know. Just remember that it isn't your fault, it's their fault, the enemy's fault."_

_He shivered; it had been raining at the funeral. "Then we should get rid of them, right? Is that what being a shinobi is about?"_

_"We should get rid of them, yes, but even if you fight until everyone has died, no one will ever come back. Death, you see, is a one way street."_

"We're not going to avenge _anything_!"

"Then what is this? What do you expect? _Why did you even become a ninja_?"

"To protect people!"

"Not to take revenge? Are you sure? If it was your family—your mother, wouldn't you want to kill the people that did that to her?"

"Naoki, that was years ago, why can't you just understand that killing people won't bring them _back_!"

"I know that! I know that, I just—you sat there, Minato, like we did that time in the academy and I thought you were thinking what I was thinking, I thought you finally _understood_ how much I _miss _them!"

"I do, Naoki, but you can't just run off and kill people we're _allied_ with now!"

"So what am I supposed to _do_!?" His voice was raw, eyes wild, and Minato knew that if he tried to go to him like he'd done in past, Naoki would hurt him. He didn't move. The other boy continued: "But you wouldn't understand—your mother's _alive_."

"_Naoki_!"

The boy dashed downstairs and Yasu looked up from the floor, eyes drooping. "Minato," he said. Minato waited to hear the front door slam shut, and when it didn't he walked out of his room, only to see Naoki standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Naoki?"

The boy turned, shaking. "Minato—your mother."

The world seemed to slow down as Minato ran down the stairs and followed Naoki's gaze—in the kitchen his mother was lying on the floor, golden hair spread out in a halo around her. He could see quite clearly that she wasn't moving, wasn't breathing.

And then he screamed.

——————————————-

16 years (February)

* * *

**Author's Notes:**"Circuit," the first of the SPEEDstories, has been released. Next up: "Tsunade kissed Jiraiya when he was fifteen." Thank you to all those who have reviewed/been reading so far! 

**Edit 12/08/2007: **Due to information recently divulged in the manga, I'm afraid that this story might already be heading down the Alternate Universe path--I've had to create a _ton_ of back-story, and while names can be quickly swapped, plot, I'm afraid, is a bit trickier...


	4. Three

**SPEEDOMETER: **a countdown from a place before time

_chapter three_

_-_

_Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,_

_Round the corner. Through the first gate,_

_Into our first world, shall we follow_

_The deception of the thrush?_

-

The funeral was a quiet and small affair. Namikaze Minako hadn't known very many people and Minato always knew his mother was a bit of a loner, so he'd always tried to come home quickly in the evenings because he knew she'd be waiting and now he didn't have to worry because she wouldn't be waiting and the house was very dark and very cold and very big.

A few people hugged him, whispered condolences, bowed and offered small gifts—baskets of fruit, frilly cards, gloves and scarves—and he remembered someone putting them away for him because all he could do was watch the stone with his mother's name stare at him and stare at him and his mother couldn't be dead, she was at home waiting for him with the lights on and the water already boiled _mother where are you?_

The day was horribly long, built of moments that didn't seem to last forever but existed, disconnected, and so the leaps from one point in time to the next were jarring, difficult, full of all the rough edges and gaping chasms and swinging pendulums life had to offer, counting down, slowly, to absolutely nothing. He vaguely remembered Yasu and Naoki watching him from the edges of the well-wishers and he must have snarled at Naoki to _leave don't come here you killed her it's your fault get out!_ because a few minutes later when he looked no one was there, but everything about the day blurred together to black so when nightfall finally came, when everything and everyone was finally gone Minato found himself alone and laid down on the cold, frozen ground and curled up beside his mother's tombstone and fell asleep. He hadn't been able to stay at his house alone the previous night and had missed training today, but he knew his mother wouldn't approve of him skipping _two_ days in a row so he figured he should get some rest at least and imagined that she was singing him his favorite lullaby because that's what she always did, even when he feebly protested that he was too old for that.

_Strong brave and simple shinobi in black_

_The stars are all shining on __their humble backs_

_Surround the city they'll watch when you doze _

_So close your eyes, loved one, forget all your woes_

He closed his eyes and dreamed in color.

--

The sky was light when Minato finally woke up. He stopped by his house to shower as quickly as he could, ignoring the piles of notes and messages stuffed through the door, and scrubbed at his skin viciously. Not even bothering with towel drying his hair, he slipped into a change on clothing and gathered a few small things he'd need for the day, never lingering in any room for too long and ignoring the faint growl of his stomach when he passed by the kitchen, trying not to remember that mother always knew exactly what he wanted for breakfast, somehow, and that it was _always_ ready on time. He couldn't help but wonder what time she got up in the morning to prepare it for him.

_ I should have asked._

His teammates were already at the meeting place, eyeing him oddly. His mother hadn't been killed in the line of duty, she hadn't died nobly, there was no reason for the village to grieve with him, but the two of them seemed to.

Vaguely, he heard Naoki start talking: "Where were you last night, Minato—I banged at your door and threw rocks at your window and you never answered—are you still mad? I didn't do anything to your mother—you _know_ that—I never, I couldn't! Minato please, Minato _Minato_."

Yasu said something along the lines of _look obviously he didn't mean it that's not exactly what he wants to talk about__ right now_but Yasu knew even less about these things. He lived with his boring parents in a boring house on the boring side of town—a civilian playing ninja for a bit too long.

The blond ignored them and sat down against the gate, and when Naoki walked over and started to shake him, wailing almost hysterically _look are you okay? i understand, alright, you might be upset but don't be mad at me I just don't see why you have to be so stubborn, I'm here for you okay_, Minato snapped and grabbed Naoki's wrist and twisted it behind his back.

"If you touch me, I'll kill you. Just leave me alone."

The wrist was thin between his fingers and the skin soft and Minato felt his heart race and he wanted to dig his nails into it and watch the boy who killed his mother bleed _it is your fault you said she would die you asked me what I would do you said you said you saw her you might as well have killed her__ you asked me what I would do, I'll kill you_ and Naoki's face was white white looked like his mother's _she was lying on the floor, hair spread out in a halo not breathing mother KAA-SAN!_ and heard screaming and shoved his hands in his ears and bit his lip and found that it was him shouting and Jiraiya was even there and wasn't saying anything and Naoki was still standing there.

He imagined Naoki dead, Naoki's long straight hair out of its stupid clips and how it would look, arranged in a halo. It was almost disgustingly easy—he was, after all, a ninja.

Minato stood up and wiped the blood off of his face with the back of his hand and tried to take a deep breath (twice, tried twice) and forget and somehow managed to push himself off the ground and say, "Sensei, it's time for lessons, right?"

Jiraiya looked a bit pale. "Nami—," he started, but thinking better of it he shook his head and looked down and Minato thought that Jiraiya might have been a bit of a better sensei than he'd previously thought, but his mind was suddenly moving too sluggishly to follow the wisp of an idea. "Fine. Let's start. We're doing chakra control today, so first I'd like you to—"

"Can we try something else today, sensei? How about some interesting jutsu we can weave into our normal attack patterns?"

"I don't really think—"

"Look at it this way: usually parents are supposed to pass down family jutsu, right? But you know, sensei," and here Minato laughed coldly, "it's not like any of us have family that can teach us now."

"_Namikaze_—"

Minato bristled at the lack of an honorific. "Minato-_kun,_ Jiraiya-sensei. I'm your student." Both his teammates stared into blue eyes and looked for the boy they thought they knew so well, the soft, slightly inept, ever thoughtful Namikaze Minto…

…and they couldn't find him.

That was the first day.

--

The second day, Minato woke up even earlier (it was hard sleeping in the cold, under a bit of snow and using a stone as a pillow but he swore he could hear his mother say _wake up love, you'll be late otherwise _and when he said _I'm off_ she said _stay safe_ and it was definitely her, light voice lilting) and he went home to shower and pull on some fresh clothing. He usually wore his most worn-out outfits to training, knowing they'd probably get destroyed, but Namikaze figured that he'd have to buy himself new clothes anyway, and it wasn't like he had any other reason to save his good ones. He pulled a dark blue polo over his head, smirking darkly. He tried not to remember how his mother liked when he dressed up for Friday night dinner, in dark pants and a light clinging top, arms a bit too long.

_Minato, you look lovely._

He tried harder.

Minato got to the training site a few minutes before he usually did, and noticed that his sensei was sitting with one of his froggy friends (there were weirder jounin habits), talking under his breath. The man was hunched over, face solemn, brow furrowed. The blond refrained from walking into the clearing, instead squatting behind one of the bushes ringing the ground and squinted, trying to see what was being said, what his sensei was so worried about _are you talking about me?_ Because everyone seemed to be talking about him nowadays. Or no one was. Minako hadn't known very many people, after all.

The wind whirled in his ears, stealing away any chance Minato might have had of listening in. _Fucking wind_ he cursed, then suddenly thought back to what he'd learn about weather manipulation in the academy (the first time he'd cursed in class, and he'd gotten thrown out for the end of it) and grinned, lips pulling tightly, skin breaking. He licked at the blood pooling by his mouth absentmindedly and tried to remember what the seals looked like.

_Everyone has a bit of __innate __control over their chakra element's weather component—it'__s why fire and lightning types are able to perform jutsu that involve the creation and manipulation of fire more easil__y than earth types, for example, usually at younger ages._

_But for even more basic work—something even you kids could do with a bit of concentration—all you need are the seals for the tiger, snake, and ox and quite a bit of concentration. I'm a water type, so if I wanted to make the water in my glass spill over the sides a bit, all I have to do is concentrate on the movement of the liquid, make the hand seals, and…_

He'd forgotten this lecture. Had he been in a better mood, Minato would have given more thought to why the memory was so clear instead of the blur typically representing his days at the academy, despite his usually unwavering attention. Instead, he concentrated on the area around Jiraiya's mouth and envisioned that it was full of a type of wind that he could see, formed the seals, and _pulled_ with his mind and felt a bit of breeze tickle his nose and along with it—

"—you're comparing him to Tsunade and feeling guilty, aren't you?" _Score!_

"Maybe."

"_Jiraiya_, you can't, it's not your fault that anyone died."

"I know."

"You always say that. I don't think you really know. You've always tried to be so responsible for everything—one day that's going to kill you too, you know, and then you won't be able to do _anything_ about the world."

"The world, huh."

"'_When the world was born it didn't have anyone to tell it that it was beautiful. Somehow, it managed_.'"

A low chuckle. "Quoting me, now?"

There was a long pause, and Minato had thought that perhaps the jutsu had worn off or something. "Sometimes," and here the toad sighed, as much as a toad could, voice gravelly, "sometimes I don't think it was fair to send you off, away from us. You should have stayed—you were too _young_." Minato's mouth pursed. _Send you off?_

"Gamachi, I had to. The Great Toad Sage said I couldn't stay." _Great…Toad Sage!?_

"I _still_ don't understand why. You weren't ready. You were still—"

"It was a long time ago."

"Yes." A pause. "Jiraiya—maybe you should come back—" But Jiraiya wasn't listening. He turned around and peered straight at where Minato was listening, right into widening eyes ringed with a graying pallor.

The man narrowed his eyes and noticed the flow of air and growled. "Don't eavesdrop," he said, quietly enough to assure Minato that he knew what was going on, he knew Minato could hear _exactly_ what he was saying, before dispelling the misdirected wind. Minato stumbled forward, a bit awed, a bit confused, and bit hurt _who does he think he is keeping secrets like those_, but his teammates were walking past the gate to the training ground and Jiraiya was getting up, looking stern, frog already gone. The blond drew himself up and scowled, leaning onto the brambles. _The Great Toad Sage…that's one of the most ancient legends of the world—the toad leading a council of toad summons hidden deep in some mountain range far away. Could Jiraiya-sensei have been talking to one of those toads? Are they his summons?_

_Summons…_ and Minato shivered, wondering what else he didn't know about his sensei, a man rumored to have held back an entire army with his teammates. Very few ninja had the chakra control and capacity to summon animals, and even fewer could claim mastery over them, and his stomach hurt a bit, remembering the way he'd railed against the man up in his room, snacking on Yasu's marshmallows, completely naïve.

"Naoki, Yasu, Minato—_kun_—today we're going to have a bit of a history lesson before we start training."

"History?"

"You've all seen the Hero's Stone, right?" Three nods. "Yasu—when did you go?"

"A few years ago. My sensei in the academy took us."

"Do you know what you have to do to get your name there?"

"You have to die," Naoki said quietly, "you have to give up your life as a shinobi for the village."

"And what about the rest of us?"

"Huh?"

Jiraiya motioned for them to sit down. "Do you really think it helps knowing that you watched an enemy slaughter your teammate right in front of you but it's all okay since he has his name on some stupid stone?"

"Sensei, I don't think that's the point."

"Quiet, Naoki. The point I'm trying to make is that no matter what happens, once you die, you die. As a shinobi, sometimes we may chose to die in order to protect what we think is important—our village, our Hokage, our friends, our families, our teammates—but don't mistake dying for heroism. Sure, sometimes it might be _right_ to die, but it's always the easier choice—it's so much harder to live and fight than it is to die. Don't forget that even when it seems like you're going to lose, you might win. It's not all about skill, though that helps.

"You all probably think you know about the war between Kumo and Konoha, that it was all Kumo's fault for breaking their treaty with us. Yes, that happened, but since you guys are bratty kids you don't even think to ask why a tiny country like Grass would think to go up against Fire—obviously their hidden village is no match for Konoha, but our treaty allows them passage in Fire Country lands."

"Is that such a big deal?"

Jiraiya nodded. "Yes, Yasu, because Grass is surrounded by the Earth Country, and the hidden villages of Rain and Waterfall—totally cut off from access to any source of water. If they couldn't go through Fire Country and make use of some of our ports, they wouldn't be able to trade with Water Country."

"That's where my dad gets most of the farming machinery he sells."

"Exactly—the Water Country is the leading specialist in modern technology."

Naoki frowned. "What about weaponry?"

"Not really. Mist ninja are notorious for relying heavily on their taijutsu because any real weapons would rust too quickly where they live. You've heard about it, right? They wear filtration masks outside of the country because their bodies are too used to the heavily damp air—without them they'd probably have chest pains or something when breathing."

"Couldn't they use something instead of the iron we use? Like bronze?"

Yasu cut in. "No—bronze is really expensive. Plus, it's really soft."

"I've met ninjas before who've used bronze—heck, one of the most talented ninja is famous for throwing small balls of the metal at his enemies and then using a fire jutsu to melt and reshape them, midair."

"Seriously? That's _so cool._ Who is it?"

"Heard of Master Akihiko?"

Naoki clapped his hands, eyes sparkling. "_That _Akihiko? He's _legendary_—of course we've heard of him. I've even got a book about his last stand against the group of mercenaries originally from Cloud. Do you know him? I've read that he was the last known master of a really powerful summoning jutsu—he controlled the ancient toad clan hidden at the top of Myouboku Mountain—is that true? And what other story were you about to tell us?"

Jiraiya laughed. "I didn't know him personally, but I'm well acquainted with the tales of Akihiko and his crazy troupe of toad-summons." He paused and looked at Minato, then continued. "But that story is for another time. First off, about the history lesson…

"My teammates and I first met Hanzo—the head of the Amagakure ANBU group that we held off from raiding our village—or so we thought at the time—after the Niidaime was assassinated. You can't imagine how we felt—it was more thrilling than you could know, thrown into battle the first time and all and we weren't mentally ready at all, but we were _good_ and so they used us and let us kill and discard ourselves because that's something the Academy should teach you but doesn't. You kill someone, you lose a part of yourself. Simple, not so simple, it doesn't matter because eventually you really become a ninja and only a ninja, not a person.

"In any case, Hanzo was the one who called us the _Densetsu no Sannin _first—he kind of half smiled and said that we were winning anyway, and that it would be a shame to see us die. A good guy. He called back his troops because his side was losing and he was a reasonable sort, though still honorable, and called out to us and brought us out of the bloody trance we'd been in. I remember snapping back and seeing Orochimaru's hair flutter a bit in the wind and getting a bit nauseous because it was absolutely caked in blood."

Jiraiya suddenly looked uncomfortable. "So, yes, there _was_ a war between Kumo and Konoha, but it was sparked by civil unrest in Amagakure—_that's_ why _their_ ninja tried to attack after Niidaime's assassination. At the time, the White Rabbit was in control of the country and they thought that if they joined with Kumo, who already had a grudge against the Leaf due to all sorts of trade restrictions the Fire Country has been placing on goods manufactured in any outside Hidden Village, and proved their military prowess, the populace would be pacified by the show of strength and the implicit promise of an upsurge of exports once Fire Country was bowed into submission."

Minato looked at the ground, bracing himself for an explosion on Naoki's part—his family had died and Jiraiya-sensei was trying to—_what doesn't he understand about us? One second he's talking to us, really, and we're—Naoki's excited and. And. _

Naoki's face, as Minato had predicted, was turning pale. "My family died because of a _tax argument_?"

"Do you understand _now_ why it'd be foolish to try and punish these people? This wasn't a war based off of any sort of grudge—you're too naïve. Wars are fought for political reasons more often than not, and ninja defend their village and country because it is their _job_, nothing else. You have trained to fight on behalf of those who pay for you—this isn't some epic battle of right or wrong, you know.

Minato imagined saving his mother, and remembered why he wasn't going to walk over and comfort his best—_ex_best friend like he would have done otherwise. Instead he thought about how he's never going to hear her voice again, and almost missed what Naoki said next, hands shaking. "So what's with all the nonsense of 'finding your own inner strength'—what about all of the books and rules on the 'way of the ninja.' Is that all a bunch of lies to trick people into—"

"Idiot. It isn't trickery—as I said, a ninja is just a job, but to do your job well have to _become_ a ninja, and that's not as easy. It's one of the reasons why the best ninja rise through the ranks at a young age, and why the Academy takes only young students. To be a ninja you have to be human enough to have the right sort of skills and instincts and intellect, but animalistic enough to murder. So we've made it into some sort of game—do your best, be the strongest you can be, fight against your peers—all of that."

"That sounds sick."

"That's the system."

"So what about your heroism? When can it be _right_ to die?"

"Just because it's a job, doesn't mean it isn't also a lifestyle. Your teammates will become your family, and when you fight, you're fighting in the moment and for your lives and your families and those under your protection. You don't think about the nature of your client's job because you've been trained to concentrate in a fight and let nothing distract you. It's the way the Academy teaches you to survive, by teaching you how to really _become _a ninja."

"What are you teaching us, then?"

"Right now? I don't know. Maybe it depends on whether we go to war again."

"Again?"

"Shortage of ninja. It's a perfect opportunity for attack. It's why we'll start doing more missions from tomorrow on—the Hokage needs to free up more people to do higher level work. If it gets really bad, I'll be sent out to the field as well."

Minato couldn't help himself. "What about us?"

"I wouldn't take you along—you'd be nothing but a burden, I'm sure you know that already." Jiraiya cocked an eyebrow. "You'd be trained with someone else—maybe a few lessons on medical jutsu just in case."

"Medical jutsu?" Yasu laughed. "Aren't the girls usually assigned to it?"

"Will you laugh when the three of you are fighting and one dodges badly and gets a shuriken in the chest and none of you can help? And any medicnins are too far away?"

"Alright, it's not funny."

" And maybe the thing is poisoned, and maybe—"

"Look, we got it." Naoki muttered, glaring.

"Then how about we just start for the day? You guys have been, well, pretty unmotivated the past few days so maybe you might try sparring with each other, let loose some of the tension. We haven't done that before, right?"

Minato remembered the rush of pulling Naoki down to his knees, all wide-eyed with a mischievous smile playing across his face, and thought about bringing him mother back and hurting Naoki so he knew what it felt like. _He already knows, _some part of him thought, but Minato realized that if he seriously stopped to think about everything that'd happened in the past few days, he'd fall apart.

"So Naoki, how about you and Minato spar for a bit. Yasu, you and I will watch and critique afterwards."

"Sensei, I don't really think that's the best idea…"

"Shut up, Yasu. Sensei, I'll do it."

"_Minato_."

"Me too." Naoki said, nodding, "I don't have a problem with it."

"Okay." Their jounin-sensei clapped his hands. "Well, then, without further ado…"

And Minato was _ready._ He watched Naoki slide further back from their group of friends and agilely twist, leading Minato more deeply in the forest. _It'd be to his benefit_, Minato thought, remembering his strategies of leading enemies into forested areas to trick them into losing sight of them, _but since Yasu isn't here to help with his genjutsu, it wouldn't be impossible to beat him at him own game._

They were already there, and Minato was watching Naoki with one eye while looking for possible places to dodge in case Naoki tried to attack. He threw a few exploding kunai to the boy's right and left, but Sato didn't move to brace himself like Minato thought and bit his lip, thinking that it might be harder to trick Naoki than he'd presumed.

And then _something _tapped him on his back and he was pinned to the ground and shit, _aren't these my own kunai?_ Naoki was grinning, but they'd only pierced Minato's clothing, he wasn't done, this wasn't over, he'd seen this trick a hundred times, _when had he made that other clone?_ And Naoki had gotten _fast_, dammit, and disappeared before Minato had plucked out all of the knives from the ground, sliding them back into the pouch on his leg.

_I have to look like I'm tailing him, like I can keep up with him, so he'll panic and allow for close combat. That way I won't lose him in the shrubbery and __find myself trapped all over again. _Minato had to admit—a bit sourly, but an admission all the same—that Naoki was _good_. He was fast and light on his feet and blurred in with the scenery all too well, spinning in and out of sight too rapidly for Minato to determine whether he was chasing the real Naoki, whether the boy had found enough time to make a clone, whether he was running straight into a trap…

_No. Concentrate, Minato. I have to win this. I—it's not fair. He. Mother. Mother would. She'd._ And now he was faster, he felt it, a sort of desperation in his legs that made him push _faster_ and he _felt_ the kunai coming, dodged, a crazy little four step around a tree because _shit, shit, is this really him? A clone? _And another kunai past his ear, grazing his cheek _turn turn, is he above?_ He quickly formed the seals for _kaze no yaiba_, hoping the blade of wind would slash through the damned leaves above him and maybe even hit Naoki, though that might be hoping for too much. He released it, and then quickly backed away, hoping the momentary clearing would help him locate the real brunet.

But when the leaves parted, there wasn't _anyone_ there. _Fuck. _Minato thought, eyes scanning the surrounding area quickly_, he didn't fall for it. Fuck._

"Looking for me?" and the voice was coming from…everywhere? _No time to think, gotta move, he knows where I am and he's not making a move—bad. Bad sign.__ Maybe a bit of chakra with a flip midair and…_

Naoki laughed, and said, teasingly, "don't leave, Minato—I've almost got you!"

"Got…me?" The forest leered and spun away into darkness. _Genjustsu? Have I been trapped in a—no, is _this_ the genjutsu?_

"Kai! _Cancel!_ KAI!" Nothing happened. _Since when can he weave such strong illusions? When, Naoki?_

Minato felt a sharp sting on his shoulder, and the blackness collapsed. Naoki was standing next to the blond, patting his shoulder and giggling. Minato tried his hands, and found that they were tied together too tightly to move.

"Complete defeat!" And Minato hated him, hated the way his was smiling, the way the dimples at the right side of his cheek became so pronounced, the way his eyes brightened and mouth stretched and _I'm going to kill you._ He broke the ropes in one go with a surge of buried strength and a flare of chakra (they hadn't been tied that strongly, only tightly) and lunged at the brunet. The boy wasn't expecting that and fell backwards, and Minato's hands wrapped themselves around the thin, pale column of Naoki's throat before he even knew exactly what he was doing himself.

"Boys?" The was Jiraiya's voice, thin and far away and Minato could care less, he would be quick—they'd taught him how to suffocate people in the Academy and this would be his first kill, the boy who had killed his mother and had big eyes and looked like a girl and had kissed him _oh god, Naoki, I. Oh god oh god_ and before he could think anymore he tightened his hands and Naoki's eyes widened even further, twisted underneath him with wrists too thin to do any sort of damage and Minato would laugh if his own breath wasn't caught in his chest and he was turning very pink

_"NAMIKAZE!" _Jiraiya grabbed the blond's arms and twisted them sharply, throwing him off the other boy. Minato fell backwards and scraped his arm on a protruding branch and felt his hands shake. He watched Jiraiya sit Naoki up and the boy _twitched_, fluttering fingers nervously touching his collarbone, neck, face, as if he couldn't believe it, and he probably couldn't. Jiraiya put scarred hands on the boy's shoulders and squeezed. The blond couldn't breathe.

"Minato," Naoki said, voice scratchy, but Minato had already gone.

——————————————-

16 years (February)

* * *

**Author's Notes: **"Circuit," the first of the SPEEDstories, has been released. Next up: "Tsunade kissed Jiraiya when he was fifteen."

Despite the delay due to best friends getting married in and moving to countries halfway across the globe, there you have chapter three. In defense of my lateness in posting this, it _is_ much longer than any previous chapter? It was originally slated to have another five or six major scenes, but, well, _outlines._

(**Quotidienne **isn't done traveling, but this _is_ a short break in her hiatus.)

In other news, look out for "The Frog Prince," a story that will be consistent with the SPEEDOMETER-verse concerning Jiraiya the frog boy. It won't be necessary to read that to understand this, but the quotes from Jiraiya's book will be from what I've written/plotted out in that story, so if you're interested…

One more niggling issue: I'd originally used the fan-created name for the Fourth, supposing that Kishimoto-sensei wouldn't be divulging any solid information for a while—but it seems I was incorrect. I've since fixed that, but because I didn't want to confuse anyone reading the story I left the names that I'd chosen for the other characters intact, seeing as there wasn't any canonic reason to change them. Thus the "Minako" and "Minato" disaster.

I hope you can forgive this and will continue following my story.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Four

**SPEEDOMETER:**a countdown from a place before time

_chapter four_

_-_

_And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses_

_Had the look of flowers that are looked at._

-

By the time Minato made it home, he was dirty and sweaty and his hands were shaking and it was hard to breathe, too hard not to think about what he'd just done—_almost done_, he corrected himself viciously—and much harder to think and not see a pale face with bright brown eyes widening first in disbelief, then abrupt fear and _oh god I almost_…_almost…_

He sat down on his bed and stared at the wall, willing his mind to shut off and his hands to stop shaking and _everything_ to stop _hurting_.

Then, he blacked out.

--

It took Minato a day and a half to remember that his mother had a copy of _Field Recovery: A Safe Guide to Shinobi Recuperation_ and that he'd know exactly when Naoki would be fine again, when his throat wouldn't be red and the way he spoke wouldn't be funny and raspy and remembered the way his fingers quickly found the hypopharynx _I paid attention in anatomy_ and pressed down, fist forming and body moving to exert more pressure because Naoki was built like a girl, less muscular, and it wouldn't take as much energy to kill him _I knew hadn't done it completely, hadn't felt the crunch that would mean Naoki was dead_ and Minato's head hurt too much to think for long, and let the book fall from his hands once he'd located the _six to eight days_ under "full recuperation" and "ice well."

It thumped when it hit the floor, sound muted by the large fancy rug in the Namikaze sitting room.

Minato remembered that no one would be at home to help Naoki wrap cold compresses around the area. The book said eight days, but maybe full recovery would take longer without someone to pet his hair out of his eyes when he slept and tossed in bed (the brunet had always had terrible nightmares) and twisted his neck and maybe that would wake him up, maybe it would hurt so much that Naoki would have to sit, awake, in front of the huge, glassy windows in the boy's bedroom, watching the darkness recede into daytime, pressing chilled fingers against the upper part of his neck, ice pack melting between his hands.

He remembered, then, that Naoki was not his friend any longer, and that even if he asked, he could never be forgiven for almost killing a teammate. That was one of the most basic rules taught in the academy: you fight to protect your client, your village, your teammates—_even, _Yul-sensei had said_ even if you don't damn well like them_ (and, being children, they'd all gasped at his language, missing the concept entirely). Minato threw all of the blankets and pillows off of his bed and turned around a few times and plucked at the fraying ends of his night-shirt and let his head dangle off the edge of the mattress, feet up against the wall as he laid across the thin width of his bed and pretended that all the blood rushing to his head could wipe away the events of the past few days. He wouldn't have hurt Naoki, he wouldn't have insulted Jiriaya-sensei, he wouldn't have let his mother die. He was supposed to protect her; his father was dead, who else would watch over her? _She had a heart attack_, the nurses said when he asked, hands fidgeting, _I'm so sorry, we couldn't do anything for her_. But of course they could—this was a nin-village. Medic-nin could do anything, only maybe because mother wasn't on a mission when it happened it wasn't the same? But that didn't matter anymore—he was alone in a house that had always been warm and now creaked, eerily and loudly enough that the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears couldn't drown it out. He pushed himself off of the bed and walked downstairs, absently scratching at a patch of skin above his hip, remembering that he still had paperwork to do—he was no longer a minor. As a fully fledged shinobi, under Konoha law, he was now responsible for maintaining this house and managing his assets and he wasn't even sure how much money his mother had left him, was he?

His toes were a bit cold. He realized that he hadn't bothered to start a fire in the grate like his mother did every evening and it was winter, of course it was getting cold, how silly of him to forget only he had no idea where his mother kept the coal and _that_ was stupid—he was an adult, he should know this things, take care of them. He should have been starting the fires anyway. What had he been _doing_ all of this time?

And mother hated it when he left his things lying around. Of course. He should put the book away. He walked downstairs, trailing his comforter behind him and put the volume back on the shelf where it should have been, where a small hole between _The First Mission_ and _Kunai for Kids_ was waiting for it and he never remembered his mother reading those books at all, why did they even have them? He put the book back, though, and walked back upstairs, sat on his bed and stared at the wall. Then he walked back downstairs and grabbed every single book and tossed them out of the bookshelf, throwing them around the all too clean living room and, for good measure, slammed the bookcase down to the floor as well and stalked out of the house, still in clothes he'd been wearing for the past day and a half, looking up into the night sky and shivering in the winter borne cold.

He thought about visiting his mother's grave, and instead sat down on the front porch. His breath fogged up in front of his face and he laughed a bit and his nose numbed and his hair felt oily against the nape of his neck—it really _was_ getting too long, mother would have a fit if—well, he would just have to get it cut on his next day off, wouldn't he. Minato tugged at a lock, trying not to wonder whether he'd even be allowed back into training and focused instead on the realization that he couldn't possibly make enough money to maintain a house like this, and wondered if his mother owned the deed to the land or whether she'd still been paying that off.

Why didn't he know? How had _she_ made any money to start with? She'd initially been a teacher but took time off after his father died and had, according to his knowledge, never really gone back to work.

_Do I even want to continue living here?_

He felt a bit calmer thinking in terms of numbers and accounts and figured that tomorrow he should dress up as nicely and maturely as he could and pay a visit to Konoha Hall—the civilian capital—and see what he could do about managing his affairs and figuring out exactly what all of the bills and papers he was being sent actually meant. For a moment, he wondered whether he should ask Jiraiya-sensei to come with him, just in case, but quashed the thought rapidly. He wasn't a child—he didn't need to run crying to his parent or sensei when anything started to bother him.

_The look on Jiraiya's face as he ran towards the two boys. "NAMIKAZE! STOP!"_

Minato shuddered and shoved the memory to the back of his mind. He should go back to bed and sleep and make sure to get up early tomorrow so he could settle all of his affairs and maybe then he'd…he'd ask…he'd ask _someone_ what he was supposed to do with the rest of his life.

_After all_, he thought, pulling the blankets closer to his chest, _someone ought to know._

--

The next morning Minato bathed for the first time in days, taking extra care to scrub as thoroughly as possible, not wanting to admit to himself that he was just delaying the inevitable, that he was going to have to go do this anyway as wasting time wasn't going to change _anything, _and set his mind on the smaller, more refined details of the day. Shower? Check. Clothing? Ah, that formal black shirt and pants mother had gotten for him in case he was ever invited to an event. The outfit he'd worn at her funeral. _She'd…be pleased_. _She liked it when I dressed up_ and he combed his hair, making sure the spikes at the back were well tamed and slicked his bangs down carefully on his forehead and slid into formal shoes _so much tighter than shinobi sandals _with papers in one hand and the address of Town Hall scribbled onto a piece of paper, just in case. Then he kicked off the shoes and put his sandals on, figuring that no one would be looking at his feet and that he couldn't channel chakra properly through them if he was attacked. He went back to his list, a bit more at ease. Directions? Check. The civilian capital was located in the business district of Konoha—far removed from Hokage tower. As he walked, Minato vaguely recalled some sort of agreement that dictated that shinobi clans were to live outside the commercial center of Konoha, but couldn't remember why. _That's probably why so many ninja families end up moving out,_ he thought, looking out for street names on sign posts, _civilians…live differently. They don't barricade their houses or set traps around their doors. They don't understand what it means to scan an area for foreign chakra or hidden traps. It really is a different sort of world. _He thought of Yasu, who could fall asleep just about anywhere, free of the nagging sensation at the back of his spine that Minato always had whenever he closed his eyes in an unfamiliar location. _Most shinobi comes from ninja families._ _It's easier that way. We protect the town, and they give us a place to live. A salary. We don't have to live together, though. We don't have to associate. We don't have to know them._ Minato looked up and saw City Hall, standing in the shadow of the great mountain wall where the three Hokage heads watched over the village. He wondered if the civilians even knew their names.

Namikaze Minato took a deep breath, clenched his hands (crumpling a few papers he was sure were of vague importance) and stepped inside.

--

They asked him his name, address, a few other questions he answered awkwardly and was told to take a seat. He noted the two windows facing extremely busy streets and decided to stand by the wall opposite them both, hands crossed, eyes narrowed. The receptionist sighed and said something that could have been_ paranoid_ but he wasn't sure, and Minato itched to check how thick the walls and windows were. He couldn't imagine the gall of civilian architects—they didn't even _think_ that two windows opposite one another would be the _perfect_ invitation for a joint invasion? And what about shadow techniques? There were surely enough crisscrossing light sources in the building—how could they tell if something _unnatural_ was going on if they couldn't sense chakra and couldn't track movement?

"Namikaze-kun? Kato-san will see you now." Minato placed a hand to his hip where he'd hidden a few shuriken—no sense in going out _totally_ unarmed, even if he seemed it—and edged past the windows, noting all open doors and fast escape routes before remembering that if he really _was_ ambushed he'd be responsible for protecting all of the people in the building and _god, civilians are so helpless._ He relaxed his posture somewhat at that, though, and followed the lady into a small office where he was relieved to see just one open window with quick access to a few rooftops. He took one of the seats across from the desk and folded his hands a few times before he gave up and shoved them in his pockets, curling fingers around the kunai he'd folded up in the fabric so they wouldn't clink. After a few moments, a man walked into the room.

"Hello there. You must be Namikaze Minato."

"Yes sir." Kato sat down at his desk, and reached into his pocket. Minato tensed, but the hand reemerged with a pair of spectacles which the thirty-odd aged fellow pushed onto his nose, shaking dark, neatly trimmed bangs out of the way.

"I'm sorry about your recent loss. You're here to settle your accounts and take a look at your mother's will, I suppose? I'll be helping you with that." He paused before continuing, looking up. "My name is Kato Shinji."

"Great."

"As a genin of Konoha, you're not considered a minor under the law. And despite your orphaned status, the government isn't responsible for you due to the nature of your mother's…passing."

"I know."

"So I'll also be taking you through your options. Do you know of any living relatives you might like to arrange to live with? Guardianship would be unnecessary, seeing as you're a shinobi, but you may feel more comfortable with that given your age."

"I'll be fine. Just—"

"Yes?"

Minato took a deep breath and fingered the kunai in his pocket. "I'd like to sell the house."

Kato Shinji didn't even blink. Minato figured he was grateful for that, at least—no questions, no nagging. Just business."Alright. I'll arrange for someone to come by and take a look, put it on the market for you. Would you like a bit of time so that you can find a place for yourself in the meantime?"

"Not really. I'll need some help, moving stuff out and all, but I'd like an apartment—nothing big or fancy—in the shinobi district."

"Any specific location? Price range?"

"I don't really know how much money I have, or how much my income is, so…"

"That's fine. We can look into that for you. I'm sure I have the papers here, actually. We can go over that later, if you'd like—I can also help you set up an appointment with a financial consultant so you can see what all of the numbers really mean in terms of living expenses and savings."

"Okay."

"Anything else?"

"Not really."

"Would you like me to see if we can locate any family members, or…"

"No thank you."

Kato Shinji shuffled a few papers and then pushed the glasses further up on his face. Well. We can save that for later in any case. First, then, let's look over the will."

--

The meeting lasted for around two hours, though it felt longer, and Minato escaped with a few phone numbers, documents, a fairly long to-do list, and an appointment schedule. He was relieved, slightly, that Kato Shinji had turned out to be a helpful, if mildly dry sort of person, so they'd settled most of the details that had been bothering Minato for the past few days. He felt more refreshed than he had in a while, and sighed, looking up at the faces of the Hokages, past and present. _I should get some money out of the bank—I've spent most of the spare money I have. Kato-san went through the details of how my account works now—it shouldn't be too much of a problem, taking out a little bit, even if he said I should meet with a consultant about my finances as soon as possible._

Minato paused, then realized that he had absolutely no idea where the bank was—he knew that shinobi could request money to be sent to their homes in small, unobtrusive packages, but he hadn't had time to set up a system like that yet, since as far as he knew his mother hadn't done so and he hadn't gotten any mail that looked like money pouches. _So mother must have gone to the bank all of the time. When? During the day?_

_What else did she do when I wasn't around?_

He looked into a small bookshop to ask for directions, and circled around the block twice before he found the place. The building was larger than the unassuming street-front would have passersby suppose. Minato walked inside and slowly made his way up to the front desk where he was greeted with a frosty glare.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"No. Well. I would like some help, if that's what you mean. I'd like to withdraw some money."

"Your parent or guardian needs to come with you in that case."

Minato's brow furrowed. "But I'm of age." After a pause he added, "I'm a genin—a ninja."

"Oh I'm sorry," she said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "Then please show me some identification and I'll pull up your account right away."

"Identification? Will my shinobi ID card work?" Minato reached into his pocket and presented it to her. She took it and quickly turned it over, glancing at the photo.

"That'll be fine. Give me a moment while I look for the right papers."

She turned around, busying with another women dressed in blue and a much shorter boy who looked about the age of Naoki's older brother before he went to war. Minato wondered whether this boy even knew there had been a war and sighed._This place is so different than the shinobi district—the badly placed windows, thin walls, lack of quick exists, and too many large barriers providing perfect hiding places for an infiltrating enemy are just begging for danger. I can't imagine anyone being comfortable here._

The woman turned back to face him. "I'll need you to give me your account number, and the amount you'd like withdrawn."

"Okay. It's, uh, 55430 and I'd like, uh," Minato scratched his chin. He was going to have to come back eventually to settle his finances, but he wasn't sure when he'd have the time for that, and he needed to pick up food and get a haircut. "10,000 yen."

"Please give me a moment." She scribbled something on a sheet of paper and handed that to the woman in blue who scurried away. She returned a few minutes later with a large folder which she handed to him before running off again.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Actually, I need to set up an appointment with, uh," Minato looked for the list Kato-san had drawn up for him. _Financial consultant, where is that, oh, here!_ "Murakami Rui."

The ice lady stared.

"I need to discuss my finances," he said, enunciating the last word clearly. The lady seemed to snap out of it at that.

"Sure. Let me get his assistant."

As she gestured to a few people walking around, Minato realized how utterly inefficient an inability to teleport could be in an office setting—whenever the Hokage received news, it was from specialized ninja that were allowed to teleport into his office to report. Unless it was an emergency, of course—then that permission was extended to anyone who witnessed the event, excluding civilians of course. Naturally, it wasn't_really_ teleportation, as it wasn't instantaneous, but it was one of the fastest ways to move between two points, so the name stuck out of convenience. Though it hadn't been something he'd learnt in the academy ("you'll learn it when you're genin," was the general consensus among the teachers there), academy students were taught the theory and the pitfalls of it—essentially, that it's really really dangerous unless you're experienced, and it's really really stupid to do on the battlefield because it's a trick involving chakra movement and not only can it go wrong, but enemies can track you. Really easily. And because it's _not_ instantaneous, they can find out where you're going before you get there. Dangerous trick.

The lady reappeared with a guy who couldn't be much older than Jiraiya-sensei. The man bowed slightly and introduced himself as Takase Ayumu, Murakami Rui's personal assistant. "You'd like to make an appointment to meet with him?"

"Yeah—sometime relatively soon, if you can."

"How does a day next week sound? He's free at four in the afternoon on Tuesday."

Minato wondered if he'd be allowed to start training again by then. He doubted it. "Sure. Sounds good."

"And you're Namikaze Minato, correct?"

"Yup."

"Very good. I hope you have a pleasant day then, Namikaze-kun."

"Thank you." Minato walked outside; the chilly air had never felt so refreshing. It had been a long morning but he had quite a bit to show for it, and now it was time to go home. Maybe he'd review some of the documents Kato-san had given to him. Or not. He had time. Jiraiya-sensei hadn't even sent him a letter yet about his status—_he must be really furious, _Minato thought. _And Naoki…_

It had only been two days since the…incident. _His throat must still be sore—the book said six to eight days of rest was required for recovery_.

Minato tried not to think about that. Instead he passed by a grocer's and popped in, remembering that the refrigerator at home was pretty bare, and the cupboards weren't faring any better. Minato grabbed a few instant meals and a few vegetables and paid for them, shoving the small change into his pocket as he hadn't brought anything in which he could put the money for safe keeping. The constant clicking

unnerved him. _I'll have to look around the house to see if M-if there's anything available_, he thought, leaving the store with a large bag in one hand. From here it was simpler to find the way back to the shinobi district—the apartments were more stunted, and roads a bit wider and badly—if at all—paved. He passed a fruit vendor, _I must be near the Hyuuga grounds—all the best fruit is grown clustered around their land—that means I shouldn't be very far from the main square. Home is just a few minutes' walk past the Hokage tower, towards the west side of the forest near the base of mountain overshadowing Konoha. _He stopped to buy a bunch of barely ripe bananas—it was mother's favorite, and the civilian cemetery wasn't _that_ out of his way—well it was, distinctly separated from the ninja memorial ground—but he needed to tell her about his day anyway, and he wouldn't be too long. It was a few corners back, a long road running under scraggly branches that, in the spring, would grow thick and leafy, boughs sagging with the weight of thousands of cherry and plum blossoms. He'd once asked his mother why they never went picnicking under these trees, since the blossoms were much prettier there, and he could still remember her answer, arms around his shoulders as she directed his eyes towards the rows of blossoms filling the Hyuuga compound and surrounding lands: _that path leads to only one place, you know, the civilian graveyard. It's said to be the walk of memories, and only people with sad memories to lose should walk there and watch those petals fall in spring._

_Mother, I thought you said that many people died during the wars. So then why isn't everyone watching those petals fall?_

_Because, silly, _she replied, ruffling blond locks, _not everyone wants to forget their sad memories. _

_Why not?_

She laughed, voice clear. _You'll understand when you're older—but I don't go because even if the memories I have of your father are sad, they mean a lot to me because I love him very very much. I never want to forget him, see._

_So if you go there you forget your memories? Is it a genjutsu?_

_No, nothing like that. It's just a legend—after Shodaime fought with his best friend at the Valley of the End—another old story your father told me, remind me to recount it someday—he was so terribly upset that he couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. His advisors grew worried—he had just founded Konohagakure and Uchiha Madara—the head of the great Uchiha tribe that had helped found our village—had been his right hand man. They wondered whether he could get by with the memory of that fight—which Shodaime won, you know—forever in the back of his mind. So the major ninja families took it upon themselves to plant special cherry blossom trees along the walk to the graveyard, and the walk that had been previously called "the way of the silent" because those who were carried there never returned, and those who walked there on their own two feet never spoke, became known as "the way of memories." What was so special about these sakura trees? They were of the "somei yoshino" variety—meaning they have almost purely white flowers and fall off their branches within a week of blooming. They symbolize the mortality of pure memory._

_Mortality of memory?_

_Memory is vibrant, sure, but it is not faithful or eternal. Some day you'll forget this story that I'm telling you. Some day you'll have forgotten that you've forgotten. Memory changes eternally, constantly—it's a series of pictures and ideas in your head that change…_she trailed off, hands playing in longer locks of his hair. _Mi-chan, your hair is getting a bit long. We should cut it._

Minato looked up at the empty boughs and tugged at his hair. _Did I get a haircut after that?_

_I don't remember. Of course not. Memory isn't eternal. She said that._ The words sounded hollow in his head, but he couldn't say them out loud to test their verity—this was the way of memories, and there was something forbidding about the long walk up to the cemetery gates. _There's no need to talk: the long path steals all your words for you and you keep walking and thinking until you arrive at the gate with a handful of conclusions facing an old, twisted graveyard kept in immaculate shape._ Suddenly, he wished he'd brought flowers.

He made his way over to his mother's grave and knelt by the side, clasping his hands in prayer as he'd done as a kid—as his mother had taught him to do whenever they visited the ninja memorial stone once a year in honor of his father's death. _We are a link in Amidas golden chain of love that stretches around the world. We will keep our link bright and strong. We will be kind and gentle to every living thing and protect all who are weaker than ourselves. We will think pure and beautiful thoughts, say pure and beautiful words, and do pure and beautiful deeds._

As he prayed, cold air whipped around Minato's face, nipping at the tips of his areas, his nose, and the exposed back of his neck. He was exhausted, he realized, eyes opening to read the epitaph on his mother's tombstone, words he'd memorized as soon as the funeral director had suggested it in place of "_she wasn't ready,_" –something, the man thought, was just a bit too morbid. So instead, gracing the small headstone was the inscription:

_I am an image in stone._

_Namikaze Minako put me here, where I am forever_

_the symbol of eternal remembrance._

_Shine, as long as you live; do not be sad._

_Life is surely too short, and time demands its toll._

Minato sighed and brought his finger up to the stone and traced over the words slowly. "_Namikaze Minato put me here, where I am forever."_ _I will not forget you. Even when the sakura bloom along the way of memories, I won't forget you._ He released a breath he hadn't realized that he was holding and felt the pent up tension in his shoulders dissipate. He was so tired—it was cold, yes, but not too uncomfortable, and the bananas were his mother's favorite and he could almost hear her voice through the silence when his cheek touched the monument, when his eyes were closed and his breathing slow. He felt himself falling asleep, hands lightly circling the shopping bags. _Only for a few minutes. I just want _

_to nap for a little while, _and his head was heavy, body slumped out beneath him but he lacked the energy to move and it was safe, here, mother was watching…

The wind whistled him into the dark.

An eternity later, it seemed, he heard the light crunch of footsteps over frosty ground _the dirt crackling and small, usually pliable plant stems snapping_ and he snapped awake, body tense. He couldn't help but move—he hadn't perfected the skill of slipping from unconsciousness to full alert without a noticeable change in body conformation, but to a civilian the difference would be unmistakable. But a civilian wouldn't know how to walk so delicately that Minato wouldn't hear the approach from twenty feet away.

Someone, however, was standing right behind him.

His body quickly caught up with his mind—pricking awake unpleasantly, and joints reflexively spasmed when he tried to move, to turn around to see who was behind him. It was light out—did that mean he'd been sleeping for minutes? Hours? It'd been late afternoon when he'd left for the graveyard, but the bluish light streaming through bare branches wasn't the color of the late afternoon sun—rather the early morning one. _Early morning_, he thought, panicking. _There is someone behind me and I can't move because I've been sleeping like this in the cold and there's someone behind me_ and it took a ridiculous amount of effort and quick burst of chakra but he forced his hands to open and support himself and lifted his face off of the monument and twisted his torso, and immediately, eyes wide and head tilted upwards, wished he hadn't.

Naoki's eyes were dark and unreadable, as was the rest of his expression. Minato thought about moving, about brushing the frost that had accumulated between his shoulders and on the back of his arms and sides of legs to make it look like his best—_ex_ best friend hadn't caught him hugging a tombstone, fuck, and think him mental. His arms were screaming in protest, though, with the effort of just holding him up and he wondered why he hadn't brought a thicker coat like he had previously when he'd gone to sleep at the foot of his mother's grave, but back then he was _grieving_, not that he still wasn't, but he hadn't meant to fall asleep—it was just so comfortable, here, in the absolute quiet and his mouth wasn't moving even if he wanted to say this all out loud, even if he didn't want to say anything _his eyes were moving instead_ and left Naoki's face, following the point of his chin to his neck which was mainly covered by a thick, high collared shirt. A deep purple mark protruded from one side, though, and Minato felt something like shame coil low in his belly.

He wanted to say something: _hey, are you ok?_ or _shit, I didn't mean to hurt you_ only he did. _I'm sorry_ but he wasn't. _What are you here for_ only Minato suspected that Naoki knew _he'd_ be there and came to find him. By himself? Were Yasu and Jiraiya also looking?

Why would they? He'd—he'd done something _terrible_. He could only imagine that Naoki had come to punch his face in or break his fingers or say in a soft, heart wrenchingly desperate voice _I thought we were best friends_ and Minato couldn't say _we were I know you didn't kill her I did I did I'm sorry I blamed _

_you _because he'd tried to_ murder _the other boy and had almost succeeded, purple bruises stark against pale skin as proof of the assault.

Naoki was the first to break the silence. "Minato," he said, voice strained and raw. "Minato, what are you doing out here so early?"

"Visiting mother."

"How long have you been here?"

Minato knew that Naoki wasn't stupid, that it was obvious that Minato had slept there, but noticed the out and took it anyway. "Not long."

"…oh." The other boy paused and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I'd—I should be getting back to training. I just came to tell your mother that I was sorry."

_He came to see mother?_ "Sorry for what?"

"For not having been a good enough friend when you were down—the sort of friend you always were for me after my family passed away."

"Naoki," Minato breathed, chest twisting. He moved to stand—his muscles had regained their strength—but Naoki had already run off, sandals soundlessly touching the pavement, slightly curled hands trailing behind him slightly in the trademark ninja way. Minato watched and smiled and thought that maybe, maybe Naoki really understood, maybe he could be forgiven…

Minato brushed the dirt off his pants and headed home. He'd drop off the bagged groceries and eat something—he was _famished_—before going to meet up with his team and formally apologized. If Naoki could forgive him—_understand what he'd been thinking_…maybe even Yasu, maybe even their jounin sensei.

That might be a bit ambitious, but if it was for Naoki—if it was for _him, _his best friend, the boy who _really_ understood everything Minato did not tell him, Minato was sure something good would come of it.

Something _had _to. Naoki, with all of his darkness and demons, was the only constant in Minato's world. _I could get as mad as I wanted and he would just stand there, looking sad,_ he thought, awed. _This is what a teammate is. Not just someone you train with. Not just a best friend._

Minato grinned and turned the final corner leading to his house. The place loomed dreadfully above him, but he lengthened his stride. _A teammate is someone who knows you better than you do yourself. A real team is made of one soul, one heart, and three minds that can work to achieve the same goal._

_A real team is made up of three soul mates and three best friends. How could I have been so stupid—doubting him. He knew that I didn't really want to kill him. He _knewHis hands itched, and he dropped the groceries on the kitchen table, throwing on a turtleneck and more comfortable wide-legged pants,

taping the bottoms down a bit closer to his legs. The motion was normal, but felt a bit odd after the days off he'd taken from training. Minato stretched and noticed that his body felt awkward and heavy, but shrugged away the feeling and set off across town, over to where his team usually trained, further north than most of the other grounds. His speed had decreased—his muscles twinged a bit in discomfort, but he ignored that in favor of moving faster _I have to tell them, I have to tell them what I mean_ and suddenly he was there, he could see the bushes and the wrought iron gate and Naoki was just walking in. He moved to call out to the other boy but paused when he saw Yasu run up, wringing his hands.

Against his better judgment, Minato crouched beneath the cover the bushes afforded and moved closer, peering through the space between brambles. He tried to ignore his stomach that twisted unpleasantly as he remembered the last time he'd been here, and pulled the wind around their mouths a bit so their voices were clearer.

"You found him though, right?"

"Yeah but…"

"Look, as long as we know where he is. God, we've looked everywhere, I thought he ran off or something." Yasu laughed nervously, and Minato sighed, realizing that they were just worried. He moved to stand.

Naoki rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "Yasu, he's been sleeping by her _grave_."

Minato froze.

"…what?"

"I saw him yesterday evening, and followed him to the cemetery. He must have been _really_ out of it—he didn't notice anything—but it looked like he was just paying his respects so I figured I'd check on him this morning. Only no one was at home. You know Minato, he leaks chakra like mad when he's not really paying attention, but there was _nothing_ around the house." Naoki's eyes were too bright and his hands twitched, and the part of Minato that wasn't horrified wondered at Naoki's lapse in control. "So I thought he'd gone back to the graveyard—there weren't any footsteps on the ground, but maybe he'd left really early? So I went back and he was _there,_ covered in frost."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Look, Yasu, there's something really _off_ about him. I'm really worried—he's never like this."

"Should we talk to Jiraiya-sensei? I mean his mother was _everything_ to him. We all loved her, but he was just really close with his mom—his dad's been gone since forever…"

"I don't think it's the same, Yasu. It's not the vibe I got—I _know_ Minato. He's my best friend—I know him almost _too _well. He's usually rational and clear-headed and willing to do anything for someone else and there's something really really _wrong_ here."

At that, Minato blinked twice, feeling all of his mental locks on his chakra fly open, releasing a torrent of chakra waves that he _knew_ Naoki and even Yasu felt, and so he started running before they could react, even as he heard Naoki gasp and turn around, face contorting. "Wait," he heard Naoki rasp, _"WAIT!"_ but Minato was gone, wind in his ears, nose numbing and _fuck, fuck, he didn't mean it, maybe he did but he doesn't really understand he pretended how can you lie with eyes like that oh god_ his chest hurt and his legs felt like lead but he was almost home, thank hell, _almost home where he doesn't have to see Naoki's face I can't believe he could lie with a face like that it's not like he understood, he felt bad. He'll forgive me because he pities me._

He had to pause to unlock the door. Minato took a deep breath.

_Could pity be the same thing as worry? Is he just worried does he really forgive me do they think I'm insane I'm just speaking to mother telling her all of the stuff I didn't get to tell her because she died so soon, no, I know, I worked her too hard and her heart gave out it wasn't Naoki's fault I don't understand what they're thinking what does Naoki really understand his parents died too maybe he why would he talk to Yasu_ the door was open, he slipped inside and closed it behind him and collapsed, sprawled over the entrance-way, sandals still on his feet. He sat there and thought about absolutely nothing but the way Naoki's face had twisted painfully having sensed Minato's outburst _I can't believe I lost my control like that_ and stayed terribly still and terribly quiet.

What felt like ages later, the doorbell rang. Absentmindedly and more out of habit than an actual desire to, Minato opened the door, then blinked when he saw Jiraiya standing there, frowning. His sensei pushed past the boy and entered the house, not bothering to take off his shoes. Minato was a bit too stunned at his sudden appearance and rudeness to comment, and watched as the man looked around the house, staring at the books on the floor and the groceries strewn all over the kitchen table, and turned back around to where Minato still held the door open. The blond became hyper-aware of the dirt on his face and clothes and his disheveled hair.

"Namikaze," he said finally, "close the door—it's cold outside. Then go upstairs and make yourself presentable—we're going out."

His throat finally came unstuck: "Out?"

"Yes. Out. And I can't take you_ anywhere_ looking like that, can I? So go upstairs and change."

Numbly the boy slid off his shoes and walked up the stairs. When he reached the landing he heard Jiraiya's voice shouting, "wash your face as well. It's filthy!" and scowled.

_You sound like mother_.

--

"A restaurant?"

"Yep. Don't tell me you've never been here before, Namikaze? Even civilians come here—they serve the _best_ chicken cutlet around town!"

Minato grimaced as they edged past a few rowdy drunks, heading for a table near the corner, towards the back of the bar. Instinctively, his eyes searched for the emergency exit and noticed Jiraiya looking too. "They also serve _alcohol._"

"And?"

"I'm not old enough to drink?"

"Only technically," Jiraiya said, and his voice was a bit softer. "You should know that." They sat down and Jiraiya ordered for the both of them. When the waitress left, he turned back to the blond, face uncharacteristically serious. "How was your trip to the civilian capital? Uncomfortable?"

Minato wanted to say yes and ask how he knew—up close, his sensei looked much older than twenty-two, face scarred and eyes weary, and Minato wondered if Jiraiya had ever been there, if his parents had also died when he was young and he was left alone. "Fine," he said instead, shaking his head to clear it. The older man sighed.

"They don't live like us, do they? They live peacefully, but that's okay. Not everyone has to fight destiny, some people have to live it, or else there'd be no point, you see?" Their food arrived and an uncomfortable silence fell as they ate. Minato hadn't realized how _hungry_ he was and smiled privately. The food really _was_ good, and he knew he'd feel better with something in his stomach after all of the excitement this morning and the day before.

"Look, Minato," Jiraiya said once they'd finished and their plates and bowls had been collected, "you've been suspended from active duty. You need a break." Minato tensed and looked up, glaring. "Minato, it's not that," his sensei waved his hands and bit and took a sip from his cup of tea for good measure, "it's just. You. You're going through some tough times, now. Everyone goes through this eventually, just so you know. Some earlier than others, that's all."

Minato watched a civilian family sitting behind them get up to pay, the father patting his daughter on her head. "Yeah, sure."

"In any case, you're to see a specialist for fifteen weeks. When you're done, you'll be reassigned to your team, and if the bunch of you work hard enough, I'll nominate you for the chuunin exams in a year and a half from now."

"A year and a half?"

"It's not as much time as you think."

Minato stayed silent, thinking. In all honesty, the punishment hadn't been as severe as he'd been expecting. "Can I train during these fifteen weeks?"

"Yes, but not with your team—if you cooperate with the specialist, though, I'll see if I can get someone to supervise your work." Noticing Minato's concern, the man smiled. "Sato-kun wants this as well, Namikaze-kun. Both of your teammates do." At that, Jiraiya stood up and paid the bill. When he walked back to the table, Minato looked up and grinned, a bit relieved. The jounin grinned back.

_For a man who let his team fall apart, he isn't all that bad._

"Thank you, sensei," Minato said quietly. "I'm really sorry."

"I know, kid. I know."

* * *

16 years (February)

* * *

**Author's Notes: **I'm taking a few liberties here with the geography of Konoha—I'm not going to go into details here, but suffice it to say that it seems unrealistic that Konoha could exist as a village filled of ninja, so the percent of ninja in the population, considering, is probably not that large, meaning everyone else? Has to _do _something with their lives. Thus, a commercial district—which makes tons of sense to me as Konoha is in a clearing and there's probably lots of orchards around. The soil most likely isn't very hardy or rich, seeing as it's in a leafy area (consider: the trees have probably leeched away all minerals in the ground).

The prayer Minato recites is a Buddhist prayer called "the Golden Chain prayer." As most of Japan is affiliated with Buddhism, I supposed that it would be more appropriate to assume that, as least culturally, Minato has grown up with a Buddhist influence. The epitaph on his mother's grave is actually taken from that of Seikilos, found on a very old Greek grave pillar in 1883 with, er, a few translational liberties.

Another note: while I planned to make this most obvious at the end, I would like to make clear that the lines in italic underneath the chapter headings _are not mine_. In fact, they belong to T.S. Eliot and his nobel prize winning volume of poetry: The Four Quartets. Don't worry—when we get to the epilogue (quite a ways from here!) you'll see the poem laid out more fully rather than a line or two scattered about.

Also, again, _SPEEDOMETER_ is my first priority work—any spare time I have (which, I'll be honest, is not very much) is dedicated to working on this. It's been a long time in the making and I'm glad it's gotten such positive reviews! I'll have status updates in my profile, and all other stories I write connected to this 'verse will be mentioned at the end of chapters. _The Frog Prince_ will be updated _much_ more sporadically, but I hope you keep an eye on that as well—I've never been satisfied with the way Jiraiya's childhood is presented in fanfiction. I figured I'd change that. It's going all epic on my in my outlines, but I'm trying to keep the number of chapters down. _SPEEDOMETER_ already looks like it might expand a bit more than I expected—so I want to focus on this, mainly. Of course, I have a few side projects that I like to play around with when I'm not thinking of the Naruto-verse—I also write for _Fafner in the Azure_,

which is a fantastic series and much recommended. However, again, I'm focusing on _SPEEDOMETER_, so don't worry—even if my chapters are a bit late, you can be sure that they're being written.

Again, thank you so much for keeping with me so far—and if you are enjoying the ride, do say so!


	6. Five

**SPEEDOMETER: **a countdown from a place before time

_chapter four_

_-_

_Erhebung__ without motion, concentration  
Without elimination, both a new world  
And the old made explicit, understood  
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,  
The resolution of its partial horror._

-

"…and you haven't had any nightmares since then?"

"No, sensei."

Uemura Kaoru adjusted her glasses and smiled. "So what are your plans for the afternoon?"

"I was going to go to the library again."

"Weren't you there just the other day?"

"I didn't get to finish the book I was reading."

"The one about Shodaime and the founding of Konoha?"

"Yes, sensei."

"Is it that interesting?"

Minato sighed, and pulled at the long locks he hadn't bothered to get cut since his mother's death—_Mi-chan, you need a haircut._ He tried not to think of the lilt in his mother's voice—the way she said _Mi-chan_ softly, hands on his cheeks, and instead smiled and said, "Yes. Very interesting" and tried to think about the thousand trials and tribulations of Konoha's founder, because she _would_ ask him that.

"Have you been keeping up with your training?"

The blond shrugged. "I try."

"Try?"

"It's hard to practice sparring when you can't train with anyone."

"Then would you like me to tell your jounin-sensei that I think you're ready to be assigned a special teacher? I still think you should have time to yourself—not rejoin your group at least—for a little longer though. It's alright to want to be alone for a while to think things through, Minato-kun, and it's just as important not to feel pressured or stressed by the thought of having to go on missions all of the time while you're trying to sort out your feelings."

"I know. I still want to practice. It's—hard to come back after too much time, though."

"You'll be fine. Jiraiya-san told me that you're a very good ninja, you know. You should feel proud."

_Like hell he did._ Minato swung his feet in the air and kicked the back of his chair. "Kaoru-sensei? The library closes at three on Wednesdays. Can we finish early today?"

"A few more minutes, then you can leave, alright? Why don't you tell me a bit about Shodaime—I'll confess that I wasn't that good of a student and never paid much attention in school."

Minato laughed. "So how did you become a medic-nin, _sensei_?"

Uemura brushed him off, hand waving and eyes bright. "You cheeky brat—you didn't answer my question!" But they were both giggling too hard to continue, so Minato jumped off his chair, excused himself, and stretched, arms popping as he twisted them above his head, exercising the joints. The door clicked softly behind him, and Minato practiced avoiding the creaky bits of wood as he walked out of her office, down three flights of stairs, and out into the warm spring afternoon sun.

--

"Hi mom."

Namikaze Minako didn't answer. Minato didn't expect her to, really, so after telling her about his day he took the book he'd stashed in the bag he'd taken to carrying around and opened it to the page he'd creased, leaned back against his mother's grave. The stone was comfortably cool on his back, and he put his feet on the leather bag and closed his eyes and felt the wind that had threaded its way through the thicket surrounding the graveyard wisp across his face, cooling his cheeks and eyelids and ruffling his hair. He hadn't ended up cutting it after all—at first he didn't have the time between managing the house and his finances, but after a while he found that he liked the look—he liked being able to blend in with the civilian boys his age as he shopped for more casual clothes and more practical things that he found he needed once he wasn't wearing a shinobi pouch or carrying sealing scrolls with him all of the time. He'd never go out unarmed, of course, but Minato found that he liked shopping at the stores civilians shopped at—where design and color and _coolness_ was more important than practicality and stealth factor, and liked buying pants that had pockets which couldn't hold a handful of kunai.

_It's going to get hot soon._

_I know. I'll be careful in the sun._

_Good boy, Mi-chan._

He loved the way his mother said his name. It wasn't _Minato_, the name his father had given him, but _Mi-chan, _and he remembered how he used to complain about how childish it sounded, how much he hated her calling him that, but now that she…wasn't around anymore he liked the way it made him feel small again.

_I will never be that young again_, he thought, hands running over the pages in his book. _I will never know that little again_. In the ten weeks since he'd been temporarily given leave from training with his team, Namikaze had learnt to remember to always lock the door when he was leaving his new apartment, how to get the most dirt out of his pants and how to hang up his laundry after washing so that it wouldn't start to smell.

Minato took a deep breath and started reading, mouth slowly moving over the words while his mind focused on containing his chakra—drawing large circles around himself in his mind and slowly but carefully drawing them closer and closer until he could feel the chakra settling around his person, seeping into his skin. "…and so Shodaime asked his longtime friend Uchiha Madara to invite their comrades into settling around the orchard groves of Ieba," he muttered hesistantly, chest pouding with the effort of drawing so much energy so close. "Uchiha Madara…agreed…and, and so he had mi-missives written…up," and Minato gnashed his teeth together to keep the chakra from bubbling up from underneath him, to calm it and hide it away so that no one would be able to sense him and he closed his eyes , bit his lip and breathed out carefully.

_There!_ He felt a slight tug beneath his stomach where he'd always pulled the majority of his chakra from and carefully regulated the stream of energy flowing out around him. _Quietly now,_ he thought, _don't let anyone feel this_ and he breathed in deeply and _sucked_ all of the chakra further beneath his skin, absorbing it through all of the chakra pathways in his body, burying it beneath the blood and tissue and bone and let it simmer there.

Minato opened his eyes, grinned slowly, and then started reading again, consciously monitoring the ebb and flow of his chakra, making sure it didn't slip through the barriers he erected against it.

_This should work_. _This could be it._ He glanced at his watch, noted the time, and continued with the story of Shodaime, Uchiha Madara, and the friendship that founded Konoha—the hidden village of the land of Fire:

…_Uchiha Madara agreed and so he had missives written up and sent to all the men that had fought with him and on behalf of Fire during the invasion of the fierce rouge-nin from the Land of Lightning. These hardened soldiers gathered one May at the heart of the grove that is now called _Hajime_ or, more commonly, _Shonichi _and swore fealty, once again, to their leader and his friend and the two who vowed to protect the families and loved ones of those who would work together to join forces and form the Hidden Village of Leaf, or Konohagakura, the Village Hidden Among Tree Leaves…_

Minato sighed and closed the book as his stomach gurgled. Checking his watch once again, the boy noticed that it was just about lunchtime, and pushed himself off the ground as he contemplated which of the restaurants to visit today, all the while carefully monitoring his chakra flow, carefully containing it within his kin. _Mmm, how about something with fish in it today. I haven't spent all that much money this week—I'm sure it'll be fine_ because Kato-san at the bank had sat down with him and grinned and told him all about managing money and how to save it and didn't pat him on the head like he was a just kid and instead said, _it's important to know these things, isn't it? Even if you're a ninja_ and then _thank you for protecting our village._

Fish it was.

Minato walked to the small store with the red awning and sat down, allowed a young waiter wearing a fairly disheveled apron to take his order, and carefully moved his chair a bit closer to the wall. This shop, like many other on the periphery of the shinobi-centric part of town catered to both ninja and civilian patrons, and it was easy to tell the difference—most ninja preferred to sit with their backs to the wall, feet carefully placed on the floor a shoulder width apart, eyes constantly flicking around the establishment, noting the lack of interior windows and the way all of the doors swung outwards. Minato shifted his balance a bit and tucked his feet underneath his chair; he wasn't going to be a ninja during lunchtime. He was going to continue masking his chakra for as long as possible and stay a _civilian_—he'd tried sitting in the center of the room a week previously, testing out his control, but his back had started itching and he'd found himself checking his sides and the tables behind him with such great frequency that some older shinobi Minato didn't even recognize smiled and indicated a seat that had freed up by the corner. It wasn't until he had moved that Minato had noticed that he'd been leaking chakra madly the entire time.

The blond swung his legs a bit under the chair in frustration and felt his skin simmer. _Quiet now_, he breathed, eyes closed._ Calm. Relax. Let everything return to where it started_. The most important lesson he'd learned since his suspension was that sometimes it was better not to be a ninja. Sometimes the world looked a bit different, and some things weren't as hard to deal with when everyone didn't expect you to save them. Minato kicked his feet under the table again and thought about buying another bunch of flowers to take to his mother that evening if the flower shop was open and still had anything violet that wasn't too expensive. _Mother's favorite color was violet_ he thought, closing his eyes, trying to ignore the slight twang in his chest and the burn of chakra, _violet._

_I think. _

--

He finished eating fairly quickly once the food came—he liked eating the fish hot, simmering in the lemony seasonings particular to this restaurant—and paid, carefully tallying the amount of money he had left in his coin purse and calculating what that was in terms of groceries _Namikaze-kun_, Kato-san had said, _the way to figure out how much money you have is not to think of it in terms of yen, but in terms of rent and food. That way you won't be tempted to overspend_ and set off for the small training ground by the memorial stone that no one ever seemed to use, hands clenched, sweat beading at his forehead as he tried to push back the tide of energy threatening to overwhelm him.

"Just on time as always, Minato-kun."

No one seemed to use, that is, except Haruka.

"Have you finished that book you were telling me about?"

"No."

"But you still think Shodaime's strategy was flawed?"

"It doesn't make any sense—why here? Why would he found a defensive ninja village in the _middle_ of Fire—away from the borders? It means more outposts and a bigger effort and general radius to defend, right?"

Haruka chucked. "You're getting better at this. Training to be ANBU or something?"

"If it stops people from dying."

The jounin's smile faded and he looked away. "…nothing stops people from dying, Minato-kun."

"Even ANBU?"

"ANBU kills more people than they save, you know."

"But other _ninja_," Minato said, eyes narrowing.

"Ninja are people too."

"But ninja go fight knowing the risks."

"And civilians go to work every day knowing that there might be an accident or a fire might break out. It's the same thing, kid."

"Kid? What are you now, my sensei?"

The man snorted. "As if. You're a smart kid, Minato-kun, but it's different—the gap between the academy and training with your jounin-sensei as genin and the real world with real missions is huge—the two are completely different. When you get out on the field the first time you'll _know_ it: you'll understand what I meant by taking the right risks and the wrong risks and how teammates become flesh and blood over long evenings spend together watching the enemy, tracking, sharing clothing and food and personal space and stories and hopes and dreams and blood and hoping to hell you won't die out there."

"Sounds awfully sentimental."

"You'll see, kid. Probably not for a while—you're still green—but you'll see. Hell, I don't know a single jounin who doesn't redraft their will every few months in case of an accident during a mission."

"Do you?"

"That's a really personal question you know," Haruka said, taking a kunai out of his pocket and twirling it absentmindedly along one finger on his left hand. With his right, he threw another at one of the targets hidden along the trees surrounding the empty training ground.

Minato pouted. "You won't tell me?"

"Well. I don't mind. Yes, Minato-kun, I've written quite a few wills, and I've come very close to needing them." He stopped twirling the kunai. "Sometimes, being a ninja isn't everything. Sometimes being a _person_ is a bit more important."

"Haruka-san?"

"That's why you've taken to dressing like that, right—in jeans and a shirt that wouldn't let you move around stealthily at all? Because you want to be a civilian, now? A real person instead of just a ninja?"

"No," Minato said coldly.

"It's not a bad thing, you could always ask for a dispensation—"

"_No_," Minato breathed, hands shaking, "_no_, Haruka-san. I thought—I thought you'd understand. It's because, sometimes, I don't want to think like a ninja. Sometimes I need to remember what I need to protect."

"Protect?"

"When I train. When I fight. So I can get stronger."

"How idealistic."

"Huh?"

"I take missions because the Hokage commands me to—because I've enlisted, because I'm on active duty at all times, because I've become a jounin of the village of Konoha, and the civilians pay me to do what the Hokage wants."

Minato dropped his eyes. "And that's all?"

"Don't you know me well enough by now? We're mercenaries. Of course that's all."

"I want to _protect_ something."

"And you don't have anything else but that vague notion of 'civilian life'?"

"No."

"Minato-kun," Hayato said softly, "_Minato_—I know, you've been unsettled since your mother's death. I know about your suspension. And I _understand_ that you want to go back to fighting as soon as possible. Just. Don't get so wrapped up in trying to find something to protect. Maybe you should think about _yourself_ for a while."

"Myself?"

"Fight for the life you didn't have and want. Fight for everything this world has taken away from you—fight the enemy like they killed your mother, Minato, and you'll be strong enough."

"But we always learned—"

"Minato-kun, there's a difference between the academy and real life—one exists in the sheltered minds of kids who grow up with parents who were ninja and retired safely and send their kids off to be teachers or patrol safe areas and take C-class missions without any risks, and the other exists for the ninja like you and me—the people who lose everything for this goddamned village and get everything back in coins and gold and long, long nights alone under the covers because we can't sleep with death haunting us. You know that, or else you wouldn't come here to train with me every day. You wouldn't have asked me to explain theory and battle strategy to you if you didn't know, really _know_ deep down that being a ninja isn't about _protecting_, it's about _existing_." He paused. "You can be selfish, Minato. You can live for yourself, now. You've had it hard enough—you deserve this."

Minato's fists unclenched. "I promised my friends something, once. I told them that Konoha was created for us—the three of us, as a team—as the best three man genin cell of Konoha. It wasn't, though, was it."

"No," Hayato said, lips thinning. He threw another kunai into the center of another target—this time, one behind him. "But I see where you're coming from. Konoha was built for _us_—for the ninjas like Shodaime and Uchiha Madara. For the people who had no one but themselves."

"Uchiha Madara was some awful friend, huh? He left Shodaime all alone."

"He had Niidaime, didn't he?"

"…it's not the same. He grew up with Uchiha Madara—he was the one who saved him from his fate of possession—how could abandon his best friend?"

Haruka brushed his neck-long brown hair away from his face where strands had gathered, sticking to his forehead in the summer heat. "He was only human—just like anyone who'd lost everything, he wanted to protect himself, so he left Konoha when it became a place he hated"

_I strangled my best friend_. _I tried to kill him because I blamed him for taking everything away from me_. "And that was okay?"

"Yep. That was okay. He worked hard enough, and suffered for long enough." The jounin ruffled Minato's blond hair and smiled again, eyes sparkling. "Now are we going to practice a bit, or just yap away some more daylight?"

Minato crouched, shifting his center of gravity, and spread his legs out and balled his fists and tried to make Kaoru-sensei's sad smile disappear from his mind's eye. Haruka-san was a _jounin_—a top class one at that. "I'm going to pummel you this time." _Haruka_ knew what he was talking about.

"Try it, brat. _Try it_."

Minato was sure of it.

--

Minato had met Haruka in the training ground right by the memorial stone—the one that was normally set aside for ANBU use but hadn't been reserved in a very long time since, due to its proximity to the stone, had long been considered part of the graveyard for the honorable ninja who lost their lives in battle. Minato had supposed that, as usual, no one had reserved it for the day and had walked in and sat down and opened a scroll he'd found in the house about ninjutsu and how to increase stamina and nearly shrieked when a kunai flew past his ear and embedded itself in the wall behind him.

"Oi. Who the hell are you?"

Minato blinked furiously. A thin figure emerged from the thick forested area wearing a chuunin vest over a strange outfit consisting of black pants with leathery patches over the kneecaps, and a similar shirt with larger patches covering the chest and neck area, and a long necklace silver necklace with small, silvery kunai dangling from the end hanging off of his neck.

In retrospect, it probably hadn't been the cleverest thing in the world to say to someone who looked like he could crush Minato with a finger: "What the hell are you _wearing_?"

But that's how it began. The jounin had laughed and taken back his kunai and asked what Minato was reading, what his name was, why he was skipping training in the middle of the day to go read ("Who's your jounin-sensei?") and quieted when he heard the story of his suspension and didn't pat Minato on the back but shrugged and said _well I'm going to be training here. Would you like to join me?_ and Minato did.

That first day, he limped home and treated the gashes along his legs and chest and arms in the bathroom, hand shaking and cotton swabs coated in antiseptics littering the floor, stained with blood. That first day, Namikaze Minato wished his mother had been home to fix his cuts and put him to bed with a hot glass of milk to warm and calm him and remembered the blasé look on that ninja—on Itou Haruka's face when he'd told him that he'd been suspended—and clenched his teeth and put himself to bed and did not dream of long, blonde hair and a beautiful face and penchant for violet flowers.

The next day, he left his mother's house, visited Kaoru-sensei's office and told her that he'd gotten injured by falling out of a tree.

--

As usual, Haruka-san wasn't that easy on him at all—Minato moved until his joints were sore and his jeans were muddy and scratched and torn and his shirt was stained with blood and sweat, until his hands shook and his chakra was no longer sealed inside of him, but bubbling along the surface of his skin, even as he clenched his teeth and forced it back, forcing himself to control it.

"Oi, brat," Haruka called from somewhere within the trees, "I don't even need to catch you like this. You're a moving target."

"Shut _up_," Minato gasped, closing his eyes and envisioning the barrier again, trying to push the energy back into his body, into his bones.

"Do the exercises I've taught you—if you leak chakra like this, I might as well just close my eyes and put a kunai through your heart without even looking. And are you seriously closing your eyes in the middle of a fight? _Too weak!_" Three skurikan zipped through the air and sliced open Minato's shirt, embedding themselves in his shoulders.

_Dammit. That seriously _hurt_! Haruka-san!_ Minato grasped the blades slippery with blood and pulled them out—Haruka hadn't thrown them all that hard, so his wounds weren't too deep, but _still_—he'd been getting less careful lately. After a month of training every day, maybe Haruka was getting sick of being tied down to him? Wouldn't mind if he had to take a few days off?

"Minato-kun! You're not fast enough to be able to have the luxury of thinking during a fight—you have to _move_. Your instincts have to be good, your feet have to be solidly planted on the ground or a tree branch—somewhere, and you _have_ to stop spacing out and considering unnecessary things, or I'll _tear you apart_. Fight _back!_"

_What the hell am I thinking!? _"I'm bad at long range fights!"

"Excuses again? I'm sure your enemy won't care. Bring me closer, then! _Make me!_"

Minato started running, feet sore and torso contorting in pain, but he ran and tried to remember the times he'd planned strategy with his teammates. _Bring him close_, Naoki had said, _because then I'll get him._

_But am _I_ good at close range fighting,_ Minato thought_, or was it _Naoki_ who was the one good at that. Am I good at _anything_ but planning?_

"Don't _think,_ Minato! _Fight me!_"

_Fuck. Fine, there's no choice, I'll try it. _And so Minato, for the first time during one of their spars, stopped, turned around, and threw every jutsu he could think of at the jounin until his chakra was manageable again—until it was weak enough to be stuffed into the crevices of his bones and allow him to blend into the forest. Then he hid, and smiled when Haruka laughed and yelled _brilliant! Minato-kun—that was well done! Very clever of you! Come out—we're done for the evening!_

Minato tried not to smile, and bowed, thanking the jounin for his time.

Still gushing, Haruka treated him to dinner, and Minato flushed, embarrassed as he remembered what he'd thought about during their spar—how he'd essentially accused Haruka of using him.

"Yer such a girl, Minato-kun. Already blushing around me?" and Haruka's eyes were soft and the man smiled and Minato relaxed, elbowed him back and said, "god, you _wish_."

They ordered soba and Haruka grinned and ordered beer and Minato hadn't realized how young the other man looked, up close, and watched the man's thin arms and long fingers and realized how terrifying it was to know that Haruka could crush him with a thought.

"Haruka-san, how old are you?"

"Why? Wondering if I'm dateable?"

"Ew. Shut up—seriously though."

"Twenty. I've been a jounin for three years—made chuunin at fifteen."

"Wow. That's really good. Have you been on a lot of hard missions?"

A shrug. "Some harder than others."

"Did you ever think of joining ANBU?"

"Nope. I wouldn't look good in all that black." Haruka winked and Minato giggled and dribbled water out his mouth. Haruka laughed at the spectacle he made, spilled beer on his shirt, and they continued laughing until their sides hurt and it was dark and time to say goodnight. Haruka ruffled his hair and Minato didn't flinch and smiled and watched the jounin walk through the night with silent footsteps and an even, almost graceful gait.

--

When Minato got back to the apartment he'd moved into three days ago, he had to jiggle the lock a bit before it would open and he didn't even bother turning on the lights in the main room—he tripped over a few boxes and made his way 

to the bathroom, treated his injuries (winced when they stung), and then put himself to bed and tried not to listen to the sounds coming from the room next door.

He threw the blankets over his head and curled around himself—he'd been telling the truth to Kaoru-sensei; he hadn't had a dream about his mother in a very long time. Now he dreamed of Naoki and Shodaime and Haruka-san saving him over and over again until he smiled in his sleep.

_Uchiha Madara was trying to protect himself. It's okay._

He would roll over, and dream-Haruka would smile and tell him that it was okay to be selfish, it was okay to fight for himself. Then, he dreamed of a family.

--

Minato woke up a bit later than he was used to doing and rolled out of bed, noted that it was already ten, and winced as he made his way to the bathroom to wash up. He was sore _everywhere—_the trick he pulled of depleting his chakra might have worked, but it left him slow and sore and wincing with every step the next day and Minato realized that it wouldn't work well a second time. _I need to control myself_, he thought, and showered, washed his face, cleaned his cuts again, and dressed for the day, _I couldn't even control my chakra during a spar—in a real battle I'd be worse than useless_. He didn't have an appointment with Kaoru-sensei on Thursdays, but he _was_ running out of groceries. Minato sat at the small table in the corner of the area of the room that he'd cordoned off as the dining area, emptied out his change purse, and counted its contents.

"Right. That's enough—I usually don't spend all that much money on groceries aanyway." Haruka had given him a list of good things to eat that didn't require too much preparation work once he'd found out that, like himself, Minato lived alone and was sorely lacking any domestic skills, and Minato found that it really was a good set of guidelines when he was buying food for the week—the vegetables he suggested were cheap, and the sauces were tasty and filling, and the pastas came in big boxes so that he didn't need to continually replenish his storage. Minato carefully wrote out another list of the things he'd need, stuffed it into the side pocket of one of his less beaten pair of jeans, and left the apartment, making sure to test that the lock was still working before he left.

The apartment was near the seedier part of the ninja town where bars and prostitution houses crept up for the ninja that had a full enough purse and a bleak enough post-mission mind, and the streets were dirtier and there were hungry faces and thin bodies propped up against the crumbling walls. For that reason alone, Minato would have preferred to run along the rooftops, avoiding the streets, but he hated flashing his shinobi status everywhere, and, in this part of town, not everyone was a ninja. The rent was very cheap, so it attracted all sorts of people and Kato-san had raised an eyebrow when Minato had asked him to make a bid for the place in his name.

"It's probably not safe."

"I'm a shinobi. I can take care of myself."

Minato liked the area well enough, though—it was someplace Naoki and Yasu would never look, so he felt safe enough walking around without a cap to cover his eyes. He didn't want them to see him until he'd sorted out his feelings properly—until he was able to return to the team and fight beside them. In the meantime, though, he wanted to be _alone_.

The grocery store was quite a walk away, but Minato didn't mind—the roads were fairly clear so he could read as he walked and was quite engrossed in the story of Niidaime and the concubine he'd kept so that by the time he reached the shop that he hadn't noticed that his sensei was standing right in front of it.

"Yo, Namikaze."

Minato congratulated himself on not jumping or screaming—instead, he bit down on the inside of his lip and attempted to sigh as if he was bored and gave Jiraiya a lazy once-over, trying to look unsurprised. Even if he respected the man a bit more than before, it didn't mean he had to especially _like_ him.

_I should have noticed him. Haruka would have scolded me for not paying attention if this was one our spars…_

"Yes, Jiraiya-sensei?"

"I've heard you've been making progress."

"Kaoru-sensei is a very nice person," Minato returned, diplomatically.

"Well. Naoki's gotten much faster—and his attacks are getting stronger every day. Yasu's genjutsu have started to hold for longer periods of time, and some of them are really intricate. He told me you came up with them?"

"Dunno."

Jiraiya sighed and ran a hand through his long, grey hair. "Namika—_Minato_. Don't be so difficult. I'm trying to keep you up to date so that by the time you come back you won't feel left out."

"Shouldn't you be teaching now?"

Jiraiya ignored him. "And those cuts certainly don't _look_ like you've been falling out of trees. I mean, anyway, what _ninja_ falls out of a tree? Have you been training on your own? I did say you could, but you should be supervised in case you hurt yourself…"

"It's fine. I'm not that badly hurt." _It's none of your business who I train with. _

"Let's go for lunch."

"I need to buy some groceries."

"You can do that later. Let's eat—I have a lot to tell you."

"About Naoki?"

"About your _team_." Jiraiya paused, and exhaled and answered the question he knew Minato couldn't bring himself to ask: "He's alright. Naoki's neck healed weeks ago."

"A-aah."

Jiaiya's gaze softened, and he reached out as if to ruffle Minato's hair, but pulled back halfway. Minato wasn't sure which part hurt more—Jiraiya thinking of him as a kid, or the way he probably wouldn't have minded the comforting gesture, much like he didn't when Haruka initiated it. "You're fourteen, right?"

"Have been for a few months." They started walking down the street, and Mintato wondered where Jiraiya was taking him, or what he was going to talk about this time—the last they'd seen of each other was when Jiraiya had reminded him of the importance of controlling oneself as they sat down in a small restaurant and Minato had still smarted with the loss of his mother.

"And Naoki?"

"His birthday is in August."

"Yasu?"

"March."

"You know them really well, don't you?"

Minato paused. "Yes," he replied cautiously, "and?"

"It's natural for a team to know each other so well, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"Don't you want to know what they've been up to? How strong they are?"

Minato imagined Naoki racing through the trees, and Yasu trapping him with a single thought. The picture was disconcerting. "Not really."

"You want to see it for yourself?"

_Yes. No._ "I don't know," he said honestly.

"Alright. I won't tell you—you'll see for yourself."

"Thank you." Minato stopped and turned to the older man. "Have you taken many missions?"

"Not particularly—it's harder when you're missing a person. Plus, Naoki and Yasu haven't really wanted to."

"Oh."

"Do you miss it?"

Minato tilted his head back and looked and the clouds and felt the material of his jeans and the cotton of his shirt and smiled. "I think so."

"Minato?"

"I think I miss it in a different way. I was wrong, you see?" And here Minato looked at his sensei, really _looked_, eyes flashing and smile frank: "Konoha was built in the center of Fire because Shodaime wanted to create a place where ninja didn't have to be ninja if they didn't want to be—where they could reclaim everything the world had taken from them. But I _want_ to go back to fighting, because now I have nothing to hold me back."

Jiraiya's forehead wrinkled and Minato immediately regretted explaining. "Holding you back?"

"I—I can fight for myself, now. Like Tsunade-sama." _Like Haruka. I can fight for my own future—I can fight for my status and my friends and what I want out of Konoha. Because Konoha is _my_ sanctuary, and because my Hokage tells me to fight._

"That's wrong," Jiraiya said, but his words lacked feeling. "You're supposed to protect people, not protect yourself."

"Why? So that if a mission goes wrong I have to sacrifice myself for someone who doesn't even bother to learn how to fight?"

"What's _happened_ to you? Is this what your sessions with Kaoru-sensei have taught you? That it's okay to hide behind someone else—to be a _coward_? Or," and here Jiraiya's eyes narrowed, "is this what the person you've been training with has brainwashed you into thinking."

"Shut up."

"Who is it? What scumbag of a ninja told you to fight for your own amusement?"

_Don't you insult Haruka-san—he understood where I was coming from. _"He's not a scumbag. He's a jounin, you know."

"I'll kill him. No one deserves the title of jounin who isn't prepared to die for Konoha."

Minato blinked. "If you die, what's Konoha to you?"

"A place where my friends live."

"_My_ friends can protect themselves." _Haruka agreed, didn't he? Ninja go into battle knowing the risks._

"You don't think a single civilian deserves to live here? You think a bunch of ninja can survive on their own—look, even if your logic made any sort of sense, do you really think that your life is more important than those of your friends?"

"Don't talk to me about friendship! Haruka-san said that the Sannin are _infamous_ for hating each other!" Minato's eyes widened and he clapped a hang over his mouth, shocked at his own betrayal.

Jiraiya paused before responding:"Haruka-san? Who the hell is that?"

Minato didn't reply.

"Minato—_grow up_. Stop messing around—get your head screwed on straight, or I won't allow you back. I can't let some idiot genin who thinks he can fight because he _feels_ like it join a legion of ninja who are willing to die for their country. You have potential—god knows you have enough chakra to blow a compound apart if you'd only learn to control yourself—but you've never been able to exercise it the right way."

"I don't need a lecture, sensei."

"No," Jiraiya said coldly, "you don't. You need someone to bash you over the head, you little _brat_. And I thought that you'd learn after losing your mother—I thought you'd realize how precious Konoha is, and how irreplaceable your friends are."

"My friends are shinobi as well, they can—"

"Protect themselves? I hope so—'cos you sure as hell won't."

"Shut _up_."

"You know what, Minato? Go to hell. Your teammates are so worried about you—and in the meantime you're just thinking about ways to save yourself? Seriously? Aren't you the _slightest _bit lonely, living in the whore-house all by yourself? Do you really think this Haruka-whatever really knows what he's talking about?"

"Of course he does."

"Then do you really think it's okay to just assume your friends will make it out of battle? That your _brothers_ wouldn't try to save _you_ if it was _your _life that was on the line? Is that what your jounin friend really meant, or are you just so obsessed with yourself that you can't even see past your own nose anymore?"

As Jiraiya walked away, geta clacking against the cobblestones, Minato tried not to think about how terribly lonely it was living by himself, how much he missed feeling a back pressed against his own during a spar, and remembered: he didn't _have_ to do this alone. Even Haruka had teammates. He could make sure that they wouldn't ever die and still fight for himself and keep them as the family he'd lost—he could have everything and still want anything. He could still be selfish.

A week later, he packed up his bags, returned his keys to the landlady, and knocked on Naoki's door.

* * *

16 years (June)

* * *

**Author's Notes (and apologies): **Firstly, I would like to thank everyone who's been following this story, but even more thanks goes out to those who have reviewed and left me lovely, encouraging comments. I began writing SPEEDOMETER as a reaction to the dearth of fics about Minato's past, and though apparently parts of canon contract bits of what I've written, I plan to continue going forward with this project due to the overwhelming amount of support I've gotten from you—thanks! So for those of you who have yet to poke your heads in and tell me what you think—please do so!

For those of you who didn't see this from my bio—I took an unplanned hiatus due to medical problems which prevented me from typing whatsoever. While this isn't something that's gone away, I am going to try to pick up the pace again and put chapters out as quickly as I can without sacrificing either length or quality (though this chapter might seem a bit rough). Of course, real life can always get in the way, but I hope to continue to provide you with chapters on a more regular schedule.

About the history that Minato's reading—I know it's been written that Shodaime and Niidaime were the ones who founded Konoha, but this'll all come into play later, don't worry!

Thank you for reading!


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